


Andraste's Harrowed

by EmilyEverAfter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Depression, Disability, Disabled Character, F/M, Friendship/Love, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Sex, No Smut, Non-sexual, Nugs, Suicidal Thoughts, humorous murder, seriously turn back now if you want smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyEverAfter/pseuds/EmilyEverAfter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aiding the inquisition was supposed to be a one-time gig for a certain awkward, untrusted apostate. She was recruited in the aftermath of the demise of the inquisition's resident knight enchanter, (a death, by the way, which has seen more celebration than investigation), but when Envy turns a simple meeting with the Lord Seeker into a grand fiasco of its own, the awkward, abject mage of house Trevelyan meets Cole. She soon becomes tasked with monitoring the young spirit full-time, and, in doing so, has her world ravaged in a way that even Adan could not accomplish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buckets of Envy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll preface this by saying it is my first attempt at fanfiction. I have been a writer for years, but writing in an established universe simply never appealed to me. I preferred to write within my own worlds. I am also an avid gamer, and, in every game with a customizable character, I attempt to do at least one play-through using a character based upon myself out of sheer desire to truly immerse myself within the universe of the game. 
> 
> In Dragon Age: Inquisition, I could not bring myself to attempt this. I sit here, a young adult behind her laptop, who would be utterly incapable of leading the inquisition. I am simply too shy, too indecisive, and too unsure of my own instincts for any of the snarky or brave dialogue options to suit me. Then there's that small problem of dealing with an semi-immortal warlord.
> 
> Still, my love for Cole burns strong. Being a philosophy major, as well as physically disabled and mentally prone to depression, I figured Cole and I would become quick friends. This work will attempt to explore how I, not the Inquisitor, but a socially awkward apostate, would come to forge such a bond with the curious spirit of Compassion.
> 
> I welcome your commentary.

* * *

  
Never would I have fathomed a disconcertion capable of rivaling that which had welcomed me into refugee life. My first experience following the destruction of The Temple of Sacred Ashes had been an encounter which had chilled me to my very core and brought every hair on my body to an alarmed stance. Before I had spotted the ruins of Andraste’s domain along the horizon, back when I had yet to observe—-let alone smell—-the legions of charred remains awaiting mass burial, prior to seeing even the gorge in the heavens that flickered like lightning across an otherwise flawless sky, I had been looking upward at an even greater horror.  
  
“NO!” My hoarse throat had choked in protest, mere seconds too late. Fixated within a moment that appeared artificially slow, I could only watch the ugly unfurling of the inevitable through my dilated pupils. Incapable of movement and helpless, after what had felt like an eternity, the pail which I had awoken to find ominously suspended over my head was tilted downward, revealing the pair of equally dismal eyes behind it and sending its icy contents to drench me down to my small clothes. I, the newest member of Haven’s “sheltered” apostates, had been greeted with a gift basket containing water cold enough to bring hypothermia upon a fully-armoured templar commander. There could not have been a more appropriate prelude to my time under the watchful eye of the stronghold.  
  
The conflicts I had weathered throughout my twenty years had been gruesome indeed, but none had been quite so gruesome as facing that brimming bucket. The two disciples in which I was trained, though opposites in theory, were unified in purpose. Whether I was channeling elemental energies from the fade or appeasing Orelesian nobles with passive-aggression, my objective was the same: to minimize the damage of any situational outcome. Clearly, the prospective dangers of regaining consciousness beneath a bucket of impending doom had not been considered by either curriculum. That outcome had been beyond my control. The moment in which I realized that my only defense had failed me at my tongue—that the damages of the upturned canister could not be reduced —had been, at that point, my life’s moment of most despair. Never would I have fathomed a rival worthy of that bucket. Shivering in the aftermath of its upheaval, I had consoled myself by declaring, with all the certainty I could muster, that I could not possibly meet an ambush so perturbing again.

* * *

 

 

I had lied.  
  
A second ambush was so very real, and so very bound to my destiny. My inability to conceptualize the notion, however, cannot be so easily faulted, for even though I had spent years studying how to resist magical persuasion, that preparation had directed my focus to the dangers within the fade, not within my own mind. The vulnerability of my mind while outside the fade had been a situational oversight deemed no more worthy of addressing than, say, potential bucket assault, but like potential bucket assault, it became an oversight to be regretted. I came to learn that improbabilities were as attracted to me as I was to inexplicability. Much to the chagrin of my fellow apprentice-mages, I had always held a fascination for unanswerable questions. When taking lessons from circle superiours, philosophical discussion was unappreciated to say the least. Perhaps, then, the second ambush to make waste of my training was a sort of divine retribution. After all, what punishment could be more suited for a girl so obsessed with intellectually challenging the impossible than violating her from within her psyche? Punishment or not, in terms of disconcertion, the invasion of my head surpassed the desecration I had suffered via bucket by a distance immeasurable by words.  
  
After the world stopped spinning, I opened my eyes, lying on cool cobble flooring. Immediately, a warped voice spared me the effort confusion would have required.  
  
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” it boomed in fluctuating pitch, “YOU…are not the one I _wanted_ …but you _are_ one I could _use_. Hmmm…”  
  
“You’re a demon.” Disbelief prevented my reply from being anything other than anti-climatic.  
  
 The voice chuckled deeply, “So you’re smart, but _how_ smart, I wonder? What more is there to learn about you? I want to know _all_ of you.”  
  
“I’m smart enough not give a demon anything it wants," I said.  
  
“And yet you are foolish enough to believe you would have to _give_ me what I want to me in order for me to get it! Ahahaha!” This time, its laughter was more intense, almost deafening, and the ground beneath my back began to quake. My eyes impulsively darted around every corner of the room, anxious to locate my staff. I was trying to recall how I had managed to make contact with a demon, of all unholy things, on what was supposed to be a simple political excursion to meet the Lord-Seeker, but I suppose it was the relief of finding my staff within an arm’s reach on the stone beside me that had caused me to be reminded, instead, of my induction into the village life of Haven.

  
\--  
  
“WHAT IN ANDRASTE’S NAME ARE YOU THINKING?!” I had shrieked, addressing the dark-skinned figure who had revealed himself as the one responsible for my unexpected shower. “WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMN FROSTBACK MOUNTAINS AND—AND YOU DRENCH ME? WHERE IS THE LOGIC IN THAT?!”  
  
His dark eyes had remained stunned for a meager fraction of a moment before they had returned to their previous dull glaze. “There  _is_ no logic in me doing this job. You’d been out cold--pardon my choice of speech--for quite sometime, and at this point, we haven’t any beds to spare. Either I was to wake you with a chill, or drench you before I reserved your place in the next mass burial. Be glad it was the former, we have neither the room nor the numbers to hold out hope for cases like yours.”  
  
“I already was awake! I woke up just before you went ahead with that... _duty_! I…I tried to ask you to stop…” I had grumbled that last part, realizing the futility of my rage and examining my sagging clothes. “Nevermind. I suppose I should thank you for attempting the former before resorting to...those other means. If I could have my staff, and perhaps be directed to the nearest fire, I’ll provide you your bed.”  
  
The man had sighed. “No…I..Well, you’re welcome…But no. I should apologize. I heard you shout, I just didn’t have time to react before I…did my duty, as you put it." He had paused to clear his throat. "Regardless, you’ll have no need for a fire--Um, except maybe for your clothes--I can give you an elixir that will warm you from the inside out. I’m Adan: an alchemist by trade, not suited for healing, but I act where I’m needed for the time being. I have your staff here, do report to commander Cullen when you have a moment. He can sort you out with a proper change of garments…Not to mention, he’s, uh, asked me to aid him in keeping count of all unidentified mages.”  
  
Watching him stumble through his words, I had amassed an appreciation for just how fatigued he appeared. With my best attempt at spreading a sympathetic smile over my quivering lips and chattering teeth, I had happily accepted Adan’s bottled elixir, then I had extended my freehand in the anticipation of receiving my staff. Suddenly, his brow had furrowed and his gaze fell to my arm.  
  
“Maker”, he had growled, “I may not get that bed after all. It seems you may have suffered a greater blow to your head in that fall than I presumed.”  
  
  
_A blow to my head? Then why is he looking at my arm? I remember falling while climbing a ladder in the mountain passage, but not from a terribly high--OH._  
  
  
I had felt my face redden as I, too, averted my attention to my arm. “Oh, no, please, don’t trouble yourself with my movement! I, well, it’s been like this since I was born, but it’s really not that bad! Just a bit stiff! Well, worse than stiff in my legs--which is why I’d prefer to have my staff before standing!--but I assure you, every healer in Ostwick saw me as a child and concluded that it can’t be helped, so I assure you, your bed is yours so long as my staff is mine!” I had been speaking rapidly, failing my arm about as if to prove a point, and I had failed to notice just how puzzled Adan had grown with my every stutter.  
  
  
“…I..Beg your pardon…Er, Miss?” He said in the tentative voice one uses only when conversing with the mad. Now positively scarlet, cheeks burning without the aid of any elixir, I sighed and managed a meek explanation.  
  
“I’ve…Um…been lame since birth…Sorry.”  
  
Adan’s reaction was instantaneous. He strained to look anywhere but my arm as he uttered “Oh…Oh!” and quickly offered me my staff. “I…I _truly_ beg your pardon...Um, M-Milady.”  
  
I could only muster a nod, staring intently at the floor, before I grabbed my staff, finally able to wisk myself from the bed and away from the healer’s quarters. I had almost abandoned the elixir in my haste. Adan cried out,  
  
“Remember to see the Commander!”  
  
But I had indicated no response. Oh, what a tremendous relief it had been to obtain my staff--to be capable of running far, far away.

 

\--

Yes, _relief._ I shook myself out of reverie as my fingers found their familiar position along the wooden helm. I did my best to rise with grace, but my feeble legs buckled under the instability of the quavering ground.  
  
Again, the demon laughed. "So you are weak in body _and_ in mind! Quite a combination for a Trevelyan! You make yourself too easy to know!"  
  
"If I'm so weak, what is it that you may benefit from me?" I questioned. I was struggling to remain composed. All my life, even following the apparition of rifts, I had managed to avoid demonic confrontation, only to be trapped with one looming about unseen.  
  
"Of course _you_ were not my intended target!" It sneered, "I wanted to know your _leader_! He who wrongly bares the mark of The Elder One! Even for a non-dreamer, the strength of his resolve was...a surprise. _You_ are an insect compared to him, compared to the Lord-Seeker! Still...There are advantages to be had as an apprentice-mage of the inquisition...Becoming you may not be fun, but I'm sure the end result will be worth the toil."  
  
The empty room abruptly began to fill with fog. From its depths, I gradually recognized a friendly figure, but the joy this sight manifested within me vanished with equal haste when it spoke.  
  
"Damn the rebellion!" Cassandra's diction, twisted with that of my captor, rebounded off the walls. "The breach is tame in comparison to the malice of a free mage!"  
  
I made a show of scoffing at the imposter. "I never  _chose_ to rebel! Even if mage freedom brings violence, I was only pushed in the direction of the masses! I was due to graduate from my apprenticeship and I would not have left if the majority had not lied on the other side! This is ridiculous!"  
  
"So you are easily swayed by numbers? How very interesting. I'm already learning so much about you," the demon hissed.  
  
_Shit.  
_  
I clenched my teeth in frustration, tightened my fist around my staff, and strode passed the mock-Cassandra with purpose. The demon took a few verbal ventures at luring me back, but I ignored them all. I had hardly made any advancement through the fog when I spotted a faint light ahead. Had the room been so expansive when I had first arrived? Something was amiss. Once again, I was exempt from the effort of pondering the peculiarity of this place by the demon, who made evident its disdain for being ignored.  
  
"You were not subjected to the harrowing. How it shows!"  
  
With a slam, the light disappeared. The fog slowly dissipated and I turned to find the image of Cassandra inches from my face. I gasped and nearly lost my footing, then frowned. The demon attempted to taunt me from Cassandra's lips, but I spun around and continued my progress. There had to be an exit, had to be an escape, so long as I just didn't indulge its provocations...  
  
An invisible force lunged at my chest and staggered me. My free palm reflexively reached forward in search of stabilization and landed upon a convenient pillar that had not previously existed.  
  
"Wha-?"  
  
And then I saw it. Blood on the pillar, on my hand, on the floor, dripping. I recoiled in fear, but it began to ooze from the cracks in the walls and ceiling, the demon cackling all the while.  
  
"Do you not like it?" It mused. "Do you not enjoy it? I thought you would. It's no different from your wrists, your ankles. I suppose, without the harrowing, you would not know the taste of lyrium, but did you know it comes in a similar shade?"  
  
My mouth twitched in disgust, but before I could issue my retort, "Cassandra" made another appearance.  
  
"Please!" She cried in her mangled tongue. "Soldiers! We must apprehend Trevelyan! She is the one who has been binding the demons of the breach! The demons that have been corrupting our men! Now she summons them faster than we can put them down and seeks to perform a blood ritual on the inquisitor! We must--" A jagged line of crimson appeared across her throat, cutting her plea short, then she fell to her knees. As my eyes followed her down, wide and bewildered, they drifted to a dagger, dripping red, within my free fingers. Horrified, I sent it skidding across the stone at my feet.  
  
"No, no, no! I know nothing of blood magic! This is wrong! You're _wrong!_ "  
  
"Am I really? You know nothing _at all?_ It would seem I know you better than you know yourself. Your head tells me you possess a paltry seedling of knowledge, but it is a seedling that can be grown. When I am you, frail and unassuming, _I_ will be able to forge a path to the Inquisitor, but it is _your_ name that will be cursed for centuries! Ahahaha! And I thought this wouldn't be fun!"  
  
_No...No!_   My thoughts went silent, my knuckles white, my throat dry. I trembled in place as the abomination of the demon's accuracy welled up within me. As if compelled by an outsider, my knees sprung into action, forcing me to run with no coherence for direction. Soon, tears were streaming down my face. I felt so faint and defeated, I was already losing myself to my wicked opponent and the nonsense that was its "Elder One", but where I had lost the nerve to fight, the defense of flight had found me.  I could hear talk, loud and aggressive, altering in tone, but I could not allot any of my energy to deciphering it. The demon's resources, however, remained largely unexhausted. It was defeating me with the weakest of its arsenal, so when vocalization became futile, it had plenty of other tactics at its disposal. Metallic geysers sprung from the cobble like weeds and began to spew flames which grazed my flesh from every angle, no matter how fast I propelled myself forward. Each light burn startled me as effectively as did the first. My steps grew unsteady as the trembling of my arms was conducted by my staff, and, to worsen matters, my tears were of a near-blinding volume. Perhaps my distress had lead me to delirium, but for whatever reason, when a door appeared in my peripheral vision, I was foolish enough to pursue it without hesitation.  
  
What I discovered, thankfully, was nothing lethal. Rather, the bizzare display of a table and chairs mounted to the wall was the only thing of interest in this new room. The innocent wonder of the scene drew me in, but then the entrance-way swung closed behind me and I snapped back into lucidity.  
  
_A trap!_   _No!_  
  
I was beginning to feel the last of me surrender. I was being so stupid! Everything the demon had said of me...It was all true!  
  
The remainder of my resolve released itself from its shackles and escaped me in the form of hallowing sobs.  Practically limping, I made slow paces in the direction by which I had come, ready to use the last of my strength to break down the door had the demon's trap deemed it necessary. I had accepted its truth--I had accepted that the Inquisition would die by my hand, and, in brief analysis all my lacking, I decided that, demon or no demon, a liability such as me would have always brought its leader down. Because I was so weak, so pathetic, so sordid, I felt an ugly compliance in how, by the grace of a technicality, demonic possession would absolve me of the guilt at the very least, even if I was to be the only one aware of it.  
  
I outstretched my unoccupied arm toward the handle, which I desperately hoped would be unlocked. "I'm so sorry," I sputtered aloud to no one, "I..can't. I...Just can't!"  
  
A reply from another sourceless voice, this one unique, left me positively waylaid. "Wait." It whispered soothingly. "I can help."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

 

 


	2. Skepticism in Small Stature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much is unknown about Trevelyan's life before Cole and she prefers to keep it that way, but just how did she go from waking (and being promptly bathed) in Haven to being invited to the meeting with the Lord Seeker? Why was she, and not the Herald, possessed by Envy? 
> 
> The answers to these questions, as well as others, can all be traced back to an inter-inquisition death of dubious details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This warning will be worded as if my work is guaranteed an audience, but I understand that every reader is precious.
> 
> If you, dear presumed reader, are bored by backstory, please feel free to skip this chapter as it consists entirely of character history. Some details within it, however, will probably be referenced in later installments. 
> 
> In earnest, I want to thank any reader who does end up stumbling on my fanfic out of the hundreds available. You, right now, are giving words their meaning. Anyone can write, but unless someone exists to read, it means nothing.
> 
> Shine on.

* * *

  
"M-My apologies, Herald, but do you mean to say that court mage Vivienne has been _murdered_?!" Suddenly, I found myself longing for the homeliness in the medial tasks that had been monopolizing my time at Haven. Busywork and odd jobs were stressful, but when compared to a murder, anything seemed pleasant.  
  
Adan had confirmed that--aside from having been unconscious--I had not arrived under his care in any serious condition _,_ and so Commander Cullen had encouraged me to work for the villagers in whatever fashion I thought myself capable. Among those who I came to assist in these small stints of non-physical labor, I had met an assembly of rather makeshift nurses. Like Adan, their credentials could only have been tied to healing out of sheer desperation. Therefore, I can’t say it surprised me to learn that they reported to the angsty alchemist himself. Furthermore, not one of them had presented any repose while making my acquaintance. Between hurried glances and stifled snickers, one of them had cried out,  
  
"yer the soaking dolt we saw hobblin' through the snow!" Causing the others to erupt into hysterics. "Oh, gor'blimy! Me an' Fiske over 'ere were collectin' wagers as ta what musta clonked ya on the noggin'!"   
  
_Again about me hitting my head?_ It was at that moment that I had begun to wonder whether this 'concussed' impression of me had been formulated by anyone in my past. At least in Haven, the opinion seemed very common. Perhaps  _too_ common for it to not have happened before? _Ugh. Gor'blimy indeed._  
  
I had done my best to explain my previous snow-stumbling antics with minimal blushing, going as far to offer them the empty elixir bottle as proof of my sanity, but their roaring laughter only persisted. The one who had been introduced as "Fiske" had been the sole endeavourer in the maintenance of composure, but he, too, had his professionalism destroyed when he began to choke on his own breath. Still, his facial hue could have been no more tinted than mine. Eventually, the medics were no longer at such a risk of suffocation that they couldn't converse. I asked them to disclose the reasoning behind the _frigid_ brand of care which had been administered to me, and, smirks still hiding in the creases of their cheeks, they were happy to clear up the confusion. They told me that I had been given exactly twenty-four hours to wake on my own before their superiour was to resort to "induced awakening". Should that have failed, they said, I would have been written off as lost, so even though a cold shower seemed unfavourable, it was the only thing sparing me from oblivious execution. When they put it thay way, getting doused in water after a given amount of time really seemed like an expedient choice.  It just-so-happened that, for Adan, precision was not a plaything. Twenty-four hours and thirty seconds had been too long when there hadn't been a bunk to spare, especially with so many wounded whose awareness had been all-too-sharp. Finally, they told me, I had been "just a wee bit too slow" in opening my eyes, but it had been worth the spectacle.  
  
I had nodded at the medlied bunch as they had spoken in turn, doing their best to relay a coherent account of events as they clumsily attempted to pair a paltry selection of salves with a myriad of differing injuries. Fiske's gambling partner made a coy point in mentioning that, throughout my twenty-four hour grace period, he and his fellow troops had taken alternating watch posts at my bedside. Then, in a more solemn tone, he expressed a joy in how the effort had not gone in vain. I supposed my "induced-awakening" may have been worth it.  
  
Perhaps, then, I should have expected the merry men to take what I had done in the following two days as an offering of friendship. For what I had estimated to be forty-eight hours of work, I had gathered whatever herbs I could find and traded my jewelry to the merchants for those I could not. I boiled snow over their campfire whenever their supply of sterile liquids ran dry. I gave them whatever I could, but it was done out of debt, not desired amity. Harmless as those healers had appeared, I trusted them with little more than emergency care. I had no reason to give them so little faith, but I had been a faithless person by nature for as long as I could remember: raised devoutly Andrastrian but secretly agnostic, always second-guessing my own opinions, and forever requiring a proof or a rationale to trust anything. That last quality had always made things between friends (and what few lovers I had known in the Circle) difficult. I could never blindly believe an individual at their word—for me, faith necessitated justification, and whatever I did believe, I could never believe without worry or conditions. For that reason, I had clutched what smattering steadfast convictions I did hold and kept them close. I felt obligated to defend them as I obliged others to defend their very selves before I could know them as true and trustworthy. It was difficult for one person, such as Fiske, to gain my unconditional fidelity. For the entire band of healers, it would be impossible to the truest definition of the word. It is not that I held myself upon high standards, but even knowing that they had each taken part in saving my life, I felt nothing more than respect for their dedication. One good quality alone could never sell me on an ally, on a god, on a prospect, or even myself. One of the few beliefs that I had held without abandonment for most of my life was in the fact that the task of gaining my confidence was unworthy of the reward.  
  
_Perhaps,_ I got to thinking after Leliana and Seeker Pentaghast escorted me through the chantry to “deal with an urgent matter” that had turned out to be the death of Madame De Fer, _these people are the same way._ Did they believe I was responsible? Why was I being brought before the Herald? Neither Seeker Pentaghast nor the spymaster were giving me any cues as to what was occurring—both were stationed silently in opposing corners of the war room, their faces like stone.  
  
“Murder?!” The Herald responded to my earlier question, snapping my attention back in his direction. “No, no, of course not! It was, by all appearances and accounts, a trivial accident! _Tragic_! Er, yes, I mean, _tragic_ accident! Is that not right, Leliana?”  
  
“The Herald is correct.” Leliana said coolly, and added nothing more. I blinked twice, wondering if I had missed some important information in my initial shock of meeting the Herald. For a man who only came up to my knee, I found myself looking upward while he spoke as if being inspected on roll call. Timidly, I asked him if we could review the facts once more.  
  
“Oh, this isn’t why I called you here.” He said, a hint of impatience lingering in the air. “It really isn’t worth dwelling over, but if you insist, I’ll repeat the details.”

  
“Not worth dwelling over?!” I had a sudden outburst, causing Leliana to stiffen and Cassandra to perk up. “M-my apologies, ser, it’s just…Well…Won’t the imperial court want a formal investigation to be done?”  
  
“I don’t see why.” He replied.  
  
“Did you not say she was found having fallen out of a window?”  
“Yes.”  
“And…Stabbed in the back?”  
“Glass will do that.”  
“So…she fell backwards through a window… _on accident_?”  
“I don’t see how she could have fallen _forward_ and been stabbed in the back…By the _glass_ , that is.”  
  
“Right…Well, servants were complaining earlier about cleaning broken glass in the courtyard, but they also spoke about blood smeared on the walls _inside_ …”  
  
“We have many wounded. They bleed all over the Chantry fixtures when they come through. A rather common encounter for our elven staff, no doubt. Cassandra, you have—I should say, you _could_ _find_ a worker capable of confirming this?”  
  
“YES!” Cassandra declared, a little too immediate and _much_ too loud.  
  
“Well! There we go then!” The Herald smiled.  
  
“But I heard the blood was in the shape of _hand-prints!_ " I emphasized pleadingly. "With all due respect, ser, Madame de Fer had hardly been here longer than myself, but even that would have been plenty of time to acquaint herself with the locations of the windows.”  
  
Visibly frustrated, Leliana stepped up in defense of her leader. “That death was brought about in every manner that would imply an accident!...So I’ve read in Lady Montilyet’s formal release! If the Imperial Court would like to address this matter, they may send their own forces. The Herald, the Seeker, and I will attend to this important matter after this gathering is adjourned. Please, do not concern yourself with this and allow us to move on. You are perfectly safe in Haven.”  
  
Startled by her aggression, I nodded vigorously. “I-I apologize! I fully respect your time _and_ your individual capacities to handle this…accident. I-I only worry a-as I am also rather clumsy an-and would _not_ like to fall out of a window…by accident. I sh-shouldn’t have delayed the main issue…Um, w-why did you want to see me again, H-Herald?—ser!—Er, ser Herald?”  
  
Tensions had been mounting before, but as I stuttered and trembled anxiously, I could feel a thick aura emanating from all three of my observers. The entire chamber felt as if it would implode with the pressure pressing against the walls.  
  
“Right. Well, we do know about your condition and your balance. We’ll do our best to make sure Haven is kept accessible to you." The Herald moved on. "That aside, in light of the tragedy involving Vivi—ahem—involving _Enchanter_ Vivienne, the Inquisition is without a mage of proper Circle training. Though it is understood that you had not graduated from your apprenticeship, you are the closest replacement Leliana’s scouts have been able to discern among the refugees. You will be needed for one mission only: we did not succeed in closing the Breach and have intended to approach Lord Seeker Lucius for Templar aid. We’ll need the eye of someone experienced with Templar behaviour to know whether their intentions are sincere. This is merely political, so no danger should be brought upon you or anyone else.”  
  
I was stunned. The suspicious circumstances of the knight-enchanter’s death were suddenly voided within my memory. I had developed nothing short of disdain for most Templars during my time in the Circle, and for good reason. I was certainly experienced in judging them, but not in a sense I would have considered beneficial, much less unbiased.  
  
“It’s not danger that worries me, ser, but rather, actually, the politics. I-if I may speak informally, I—well—I’m sure you’ve noticed how bad I am at these things. I fear I’d misrepresent the Inquisition. Someone else, even if not from the Circle, would be far better suited than I, with all due respect to Lady Leliana’s scouts.”  
  
“Are you not the youngest child of house Trevelyan? The noble family within Ostwick?” Leliana piped up at the mention of her name.  
  
“I am, and I _did_ receive a great deal of training in negotiation, but I was taken to the Circle at such a young age and the conditions there weren’t so hospitabl—“  
  
“Nevermind all that!” The Herald ran his dark hands through his patchy, ginger beard. “The inquisition only needs you as an observer, Trevelyan, so long as you keep your eyes open, you will be nothing but useful to our cause. Now, will you accept or decline?”  
  
_The inquisition needs me? Damn, well, when he puts it like that_ …  
  
“I-I accept, ser! Um, thank you?”  
  
“Excellent. We will embark tomorrow at noon! Now, Leliana, Cassandra, and I have reservations at the tavern, if you’d care to join us.”  
  
“The tavern? Did Lady Leliana not say you all had important matters to attend to after this? Matters regarding the death of Madame de Fer?”  
  
I noticed as Leliana furrowed her brow and tossed a glance in the Herald’s direction. He pleated his palms and heaved a great sigh.  
  
“Right. Yes. Important matters we are to discuss together! At the tavern! Incognito! In fact, uhm, I forgot that these matters are strictly confidential and I must rescind my invitation. I do apologize, Ms. Trevelyan. A-another time!”  
  
The trio scurried out of the room, skittish as nugs. I remained, inhaling deeply and praying to the Maker that I was not to be the next found among shards of shattered glass.

* * *

_"NO DANGER!'" HE SAID!  "MERELY POLITICAL!'" HE SAID!_

My staff and legs were engaged in a fretful dance, raising the shaft off the ground to aim ice and snow at the attacking templars, turning swiftly on my ankles to maintain balance as each spell was cast in an arc, then over my shoulder, until my wooden firearm came to rest upon the earth once more--my body secure. Combat had always been like this: a careful calculation of the time I spent with a weapon and the time I spent with a crutch. In other words, each spell required me to falter in stance, but my focus allowed to me twist, bend, and teeter in ways that prolonged the time I could uphold my offense. I had been told more than once, in the Circle of Magi, that my condition and particular needs would be better for a mage of spirit or lightning, and that was likely true, but I felt that spirit was beyond someone of my average intellect. Lightning, however, made me sick inside. It did not feel right for someone of my spastic body to cause such tremors in the body of another. Some may call this empathy weakness--I call it decency.  
  
_I knew this wouldn't end well! I knew this wouldn't end well! SHIT!_  
  
We ran as we unleashed our fire, Seeker Pentaghast holding most of them back, but one of them had managed to near my flank. Instinctively, I channeled frost from fade to fingertips to frontlines. My assailant froze upon the battlefield, and only then did the Herald admit  
  
"We're overwhelmed! Focus on finding the Lord Seeker!"   
  
Pentaghast, myself, and the two elves who I had come to know as Sera and Solas, all gratefully disengaged from our enemies and focused on evasion. The bald elf, Solas, quietly placed a ward around me. Was it out of concern for my speed? He would have had a right to be concerned. I was by no means a foot racer and I was even less so while also attempting to dodge arrows. I shot a quick smile of thanks to him and he nodded in his sordid, scholarly way--one I would only expect of a spirit mage. I admired his skill, but his speech intimidated me. Sera, on the other hand, reminded me that a worse way of speaking existed. Her default rebuttal to criticism consisted of blowing a powerful raspberry, but her bow shot down many targets that had endangered me and for that, I couldn't bring myself to look down on her.  
  
We spotted a large, curved encasement of stairs within the fortress and charged toward it.  
  
_The attacking templars claimed to be purging those who were "unchanged"...But what change were they referring to?  Could it be denouncement of the chantry? But why would they punish chantry-supporters with death? And why kill the Marquis?!_  
  
Seeker Pentaghast grabbed my hand, allowing me to sheathe my staff and ascend the stairs at a safe speed. To my surprise, the templars did not seem interested in pursuing our party any further. I opened my mouth to inform my new companion that she may have been helping me climb directly into a ruse, but the Herald was far ahead of us, and he had found the Lord Seeker, back turned to us, facing a door. The lady Seeker practically dragged me at her heels to join him and when we arrived at his side, the herald had enough. Enraged, No longer waiting for the unresponsive Lucius to tell us why his men had gone savage, he stepped up, reaching to grab the corrupt Commander and turn him with force. The Lord Seeker acted a second earlier.  
  
Whirling around and grasping the Herald by his forearms, Lucius hissed, "At last..."  
  
His forehead titled down. Either he was about to bite the Herald's nose...or there was some sort of forbidden-love, impending kiss action waiting to unfold. Sera's lack of commentary on the issue served as testament to how fast these gestures were unfolding in her time, and I realized I was outside of temporal order. Why was the world appearing so slow to me? Why was my skin suddenly so clammy? What was that dank, heavy feeling in the air?  
  
"ARGH! THE HELL?" There was a struggle as the Herald wrestled himself free. The Lord Seeker wavered for a moment, in which I heard the dwarf cry "He's not!--"  
  
  Then a heavy force collided into me. Everything went black.

* * *

***  
"Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors of memories. A face it can feel, but not fake. I want to help--you, not Envy."

 

 


	3. Flames and Fiedelity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan meets Cole. He does everything he can to reassure her that he means no harm--that his intentions are quite the opposite--but to a former apprentice of the Circle without a faithful bone in her body, it all seems like demonic persuasion. Like it or not, she relies on Cole to save both her life and the fate of the inquisition, for Envy has proven too strong for her to defeat on her own. As he reveals her own strength to her and dispels her most major fears, Trevelyan's apprehension slowly dwindles. His habit of disappearing, however, brings everything back to square one. Tired and terse, Trevelyan just needs to survive the teeter-tottering between abandonment and support.

* * *

***

Poetic as they were, the promises I received from the behind were not taken to heart. Anything too good to be true, which those promises were, was another illusion of the demon's, no doubt. How predictable of him to resort to the deception of dangling salvation at my nose.  
  
"I am not fooled, demon!"  I, at best, managed to _sound_ undaunted despite the tears still streaming down my face. "Your tricks and your...your  _fraud_ won't fool me. If I fail here today, it will not be out of need for pity!"  
  
My breath was silent. My staff hovered just above ground as I performed a dignified spin, heels upward, to face he who had offered me "help. I would never gain an advantage against a deadly wraith if I met it without an air of prestige, and if my upbringing had taught me anything, it had been the merit of tip-toed totting and an upturned chin. I succeeded in the execution of both, but just barely--I hadn't exactly been expecting devil spawn to come in the low-threat, low-fat, (but high-in-hat!) format of a man no older than myself. The fringes of both his straw-like locks and of his aforementioned headgear shielded his eyes well. Perhaps his true, demonic nature laid hidden in his pupils? I--  
  
"You're wary." The boy observed. "And loud."   
  
  Whatever the monster had meant by loud, I did not know. His first judgement, rather, could not be disputed--so I chose to remain standing, chin elevated as if it's roundedness was capable of demonic-level intimidation. I had made better rebuttals in my debating career, but in my defense, my previous challengers had all been human.  
  
The phantom did indeed soften, though not for reasons of intimidation. He drew nearer, not further, and lowered his voice to a murmur. "There aren't any demons in my eyes--there's only me. You can look, if you like." Then, he, too, raised his chin, allowing a beam of light to replace the shadow cast from his hat's tattered brim. The two orbs that were now illuminated near his forehead shone crisp and pure in a shade that perfectly contrasted the darkness of my own blues.

 _How innocent. The perfect way to portray a tempting fiend._  
  
"Envy, is that your name, demon?"  I shunned the man-shaped falsehood and  looked skyward, ""Well, your creation here is clever, but you when it comes to wit, I won't be beat. Do you really know me at all?!" I determined to engage my opponent directly rather than his subordinate. The latter didn't seem to take the hint, for he responded regardless.  
  
"Envy can't hear us here. I shut its hearing out. It's easy to hear, harder to be apart of what you're hearing, but I'm here, hearing. Helping, I hope."  
  
Alright, so, "poetic" hadn't been the right word to use earlier. This was a figment of a tangled tongue, nothing more, and it was acting as a buffer between myself and Envy.  
  
_What must I do to vanquish him?_   I wondered. _Answer his riddles three? How cliche, even for a demon._  
  
  
"I am _not_ a demon--at least, not like Envy. Envy is hurting, helpless, hasty--what happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?--I've only been watching. And I don't want three answers! I just want to help." He cocked his head in a bird-like motion, as if pondering new knowledge that he had taught himself. "Are...three answers what _you_ want?"  
  
"You're doing more than _watching!_ " I lunged at him, but he disappeared, popping up just as quickly upon the headboard of a bed I had failed to notice earlier. "You--you're _reading_ my mind! What else could you be if not a demon?!"  
  
In one curt utterance, he replied, "Cole."  
  
"...You're...Coal?" I couldn't help but turn my puzzled expression toward the hearth not far from the boy's boots.  
  
" _No._ I'm _Cole_. Cole is who I am--and I'm not _reading_ , I'm inside, _watching_. You're inside too!--you're always inside you--just not like this. _This_ is... _different_ than a song. Sorry." His grim mouth turned even further downward underneath the crook of his protruding nose. For a demon, he bared an odd resemblance to a scarecrow. A frustrated scarecrow. "I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. You're frozen outside and Envy wants to take your face. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here."  
  
"So...I'm reading my own mind? Looking at it, I mean? Is that where we are?"  
  
The expression of this... _Cole..._ brightened as the topic changed from my distrust.  
  
"Yes." He said. "Will you let me help you? I can make you forget if it bothers you. But later--I shouldn't take pieces of you away, not yet."  
  
  
"So..." I attempted to summarize all that I had learned thus far. "you're a stalking spirit, you call yourself Cole, you entered my mind, and you want to _help_ me by putting me into _pieces_? Maker, if the templars were only here, they would kill me just for having this conversation."  
  
"But...The templars _can't_ be here. They're not like me. And an army can't fit inside one person, even pieces of a person, but I'll only take away a piece if _you_ want me to. All I want is to _help._ "  
  
"I didn't mean that they templars could read my-- _you know what?_ Nevermind the Circle." I couldn't allow his confounding chatter to distract me. Focusing on the sound of water dripping 'round the dank cell, I recalled unknowns of greater importance. "What do you know about the _other_ templars? The ones I fought before I got here? Did they bring Envy to me? I've met some cruel templars...But not like them."  
  
"I was watching. I _watch._ Every templar was impressed by your leader-- _herald, herald, harbinger of the heavens_ \--but the Lord Seeker did not impress, _he_ envied. Envy twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They're red inside. Like your eyes, but because of what went in, not out."  
  
Stricken with self-consciousness, I used my sleeve to wipe all evidence of weeping from my cheeks. Cole was perceptive, I granted him that, but clarity seemed to elude him. We had gone far beyond three answers, and I was still swimming in questions. "They're red inside and I'm frozen outside? What does that mean?"  
  
"Outside, in your life the way you normally watch it, a blade is still falling, hanging in the air like a sunset. In here is fast--thoughts are fast--time is different. You felt it slow down. The fade wanted to warn you, but the fade doesn't speak without spirits. The templars are red bec--"  
  
The door to the chamber lurched open with a great clatter which caused me to jump. I snapped my scrutiny away from Cole and toward the empty frame. _What's going on?!_  
  
  
An impious hiss drifted through the doorway and tugged at my fear. I could feel it stretching until it sent my once-high chin into a tremor.  
  
"Envy found us!" Cole exclaimed in a way that held less emotion than an exclamation should. "He does _not_ like to be forgotten."  
  
"Yeah, I-I might of noticed that earlier..." My nonchalance was not convincing. But Cole had chosen to stand on the ceiling, so there was _something_ to amuse me that could have resembled comedy.  
  
"We don't have any more time! If you let me help you, I can get you out! Envy won't hurt you!"  
  
" And how do I know _you_ won't?"  
  
"You can't _know_! Hurting is a choice, _knowing_ is forever! If I hurt you, you can kill me, but if Envy hurts you, he'll hurt other people too!"  
  
  Certain death versus conditional death? So much for comedic relief.I was already sniveling again. The hat-covered curiosity had made an invisible jump to the archway leading out of the room and was extending his hand toward me. The urgency of the moment was written all over the small portion of his face that lay exposed. If hurting was a choice, how could I know _which_ choice it was? For a scarecrow, Cole didn't give off a notably scary vibe. Envy, on the other hand, was certainly menacing, but Cole could easily have been another of his artifices...  
  
_If Cole truly is a product of Envy's, then I suppose there is no choice to be made. Either way, the inquisition will fall. I've already shed enough tears to prove that I am not strong enough to conquer my mind on my own. If I have no choice, I have no choice."_  
  
I ran to the boy's side, staff in hand, and nodded.  
  
"If you're here to help, I'll welcome you."  
  
"Good."  
  
But leaving the room was not as simple as a stroll. The fire that I had all-too-soon-forgotten was once again dancing in front of me, rendering any path of escape hopelessly narrow.  
  
"Ideas are loud here." Spoke the mouth beneath the hat. "You don't like flames, _flickering, flailing, feral_...You can control it in your fingers, but when it leaves, it's too free, too fierce. It can grow and feel and sear beyond your control. Your apologies will do nothing--nothing scares you. Templars say nothing scares them, but for you, the nothing is alive."  
  
"Yes, right! I don't like fire! Now that we're clear on that, I'd like to know how to get around it, please!"  
  
"You have to make your ideas louder! Think of...Think of grass! Grass doesn't mind anything! People walk on it, horses eat it, it's always controllable!"  
  
Too tense to accommodate any emotion--not even  bewilderment in the wake of an ode to _grass_ \--except fear, I did as instructed. The geysers that, before, had seemed so weed-like truly became so. The crevices in the cobble from which they flourished now served as humble planters, and I, a homebody like no other, found nature to be remarkably relaxing for once.  
  
My companion drew me out of my daze and once again, muttered, "Good." Hasty, he sized up the vista in nimble, evanescent leaps. "You need to go up. There _is_ a way there, but it's blocked by shadows and swindlings. All of this is Envy: people, places, power. It needs concentration, heavy, hard, and hoarded. If you keep going, Envy stretches. More places, less people, less power. Being one person is hard. Being many, _too many, more and more an_ d--Envy breaks down. _You_ break _out_...Maybe."  
  
" _Going up_ is what got me here in the f--" I was interrupted by the ever-needy Envy, whose booming, contorting dialect had become alien to my ears. Already, I was growing accustomed to the gentle, new spirit.  
  
"THAT THING CAN'T HELP YOU!" he bellowed. "I _WILL_ KNOW MORE!"  
  
The grass was suddenly obliterated. Cole vanished from my side. Was I being abandoned? Had he been taken? Had he been a ruse as I suspected?! I braced myself against the impact of the blast, inching forward into the area it had uncovered.  
  
"Cole?" I called, a small twinge of hope leaving via the circle his name had imprinted upon my lips. "Cole?!"  
  
The space illuminated with one, sudden, blinding ray. I cried out in agony and threw my arm around my face. When it was lowered, I found myself in a dungeon, a gore-shedding corpse shackled to a table at the center. A silhouette baring my shape stood over the body and turned the pools of its blood into horrific energies that filled the air. They sprouted limbs and heads and were cloaked in an essence that pitted my stomach. _Demons._  
  
"Betrayed allies will curse your name! Like the first inquisition, you will bring blood and ruin and fear!"  
  
_Why would an Envy demon want this much destruction?!_ I tried to look away, but the scene was made so that it would follow my eyes, bending the room to forever remain at the forefront of my vision, even when I closed them.  
  
"Unless...You don't?" Cole's voice, like that of Envy's spoke overhead--an unseen narrator. "None of this is real unless you let it be."  
  
_Yes. Hurt is a choice._ I stepped toward the table and pulled the dagger from the corpse, causing it, along with everything else, to disintegrate.  
  
"GET OUT, THING!" Envy began to address Cole. Had they been arguing back when I hadn't been listening? "I AM LEARNING!"  
  
If Cole was a farse, he was certainly an elaborate one. I moved on and discovered yet another dungeon. Could a demon so lacking in creativity truly create such a farse? At least the cages in this one held prisoners. Every one of them was dressed in templar garb, and they taunted their mage guards with vulgarities.  
  
"Your kind may see victory, apostate, but at what cost? The Elder One's possession of the Herald is no victory worth seeing. We were right to treat your kind as we did, but we would have been better to put you all down at first sight!"  
  
"Nobody will believe that I would bind the Herald of my own will! This will never work!" I called to Envy. His signature, wavering chortle no longer chilled me as it once had.  
  
"Aha-ahahaha! Do your friends know you so well? No, wait, who would _you_ consider a friend, you who distances herself so greatly? Nobody knows you at all! It will be child's play to convince them of a change in character. For the time being, you needn't fret about being lonely--I will know you almost too well, too soon."  
  
The cell-tower expanded, revealing more bodies, more innards, more caged templars, and more familiar figures--all cursing mage-freedom and those who channel the fade. In one such space, there was Solas, suspended from a noose on the rafters, skin white, bones protruding from his ever-bare feet. In terror, I screamed and attempted to flee, but the enclosure behind me had morphed into a wall with a shattered window, Commander Cullen sprawled among the glass.  
  
"It's dark, but it isn't real." Of all places, Cole had decided to appear on the ceiling, suspended next to Solas, only _his_ head was pointing toward the floor. "Think of sparks." He suggested.  
  
"We've already been over this--I don't like fire! Now, please, could you go somewhere so I can look at you while you're not...upside-down?" I chose not to explain my relation to Solas to the "boy". He was already too prone to tangents.  
  
"How do you not know I'm downside-up?"  
  
I sighed. "Nevermind. About the sparks, isn't there an alternative?"  
  
Cole gestured toward an iron brazier fixated upon the wall opposite Cullen. "This won't be like other fire. You don't have to be afraid. And it will be blue! At least...Sort of...But you like blue!"  
  
Not the most compelling reason, but I gave him credit for trying. I suppose the mind-reading stalker had found it necessary to prod at my favourite colour while he had been investigating my pyrophobia. I laid down my staff, too nervous to risk it shaking--shaking and fire had never ended well for me--and shaped my summoned energy in a way I seldom did. As promised, the brazier came to life with a substance unlike regular fire, but more greenish than blue.  
  
"Is this...Veilfire? I think I read about this once, a long time ago."  
  
Cole smiled. "Keep going up. You're more you there than you are Envy, and that tires it out."  
  
"But how do I--?"  
  
He was gone. Again. Torch in one hand, I grabbed my staff with the other, then turned to face Cullen. My conjured sparks reacted violently to the wall, and with a brilliant explosion, it was obliterated. "Oh. I guess _that's_ how."  
  
With every advancement I made, the veilfire destroyed more and more of the demon's fabrications, causing him to growl and sputter obscenities, but I paid them little regard. Finally, I came to a staircase. It was the most literal form of "up" I could fathom, but my determination fell when I realized it had been littered with bricks. There was hardly room for my feet. Getting support from my staff would be impossible. I sheathed the wand and tossed the veilfire to the ground. _So it can destroy walls, but it leaves their remnants unharmed?_  
  
"Cole?" I echoed into the aimless dark.  
  
He left his whereabouts unknown. "Your ideas are louder here than they are in reality. You shouldn't need a banister or a backing--just go up."  
  
_For someone so eager to help, can't he just guide me up some stairs? Clear a path? What is the significance of all these ideas?  They're just a waste of time!_  
  
Annoyed, I had little other choice than to do as I had been told, so I placed my tentative toes in the wedge between two bricks. I did not fall.  
  
"H-hey!" In the midst of demonic entrapment, I erupted into laughter. " _This is new_."  
  
Being able to move without stiffness or swaying made the navigation of the ascending obstacle course quite enjoyable. When I completed my task, sans bruises or scrapes, I stood upon a balcony full of the masked folk of Val Royeaux. Or, rather, Envy's representation of them. It was another trial. No time for celebration.  
  
"This iz 'orrible!" one of them distressed. "Can we not make some _offert_ to appease these madmen?!"  
  
"I fear no amount of coin could spare us, Milady. Ferelden has been overrun by demons. The inquisition will surely burn Orlais _en prochain_! Perhaps, had Madame de Fer not perished, we not have to resort to running, but we are where are."  
  
_Now this is unusual_. I thought. "Why attack Orlais?"  
  
" _Oh_ , so you're curious. Shall I make use of that when I'm you?" Envy could do nothing but jeer. Questioning would do me no good.  
  
I had begun to search for another way "up" when battle cries pierced the atmosphere. "There's the traitor! Kill her!"  
  
From nowhere, the balcony became subject to an onslaught of arrows, most of which missed my flesh, but due to aim, not the grace of my evasive skills.  
  
"She remains! Again!"  
  
"COLE? There's nowhere to go!"  
  
"Balconies are attached to buildings!" His omniscient voice replied. "Scale the walls! You're almost there! Envy's ideas are getting smaller! They can't beat yours!"  
  
"I don't like heights either!"  
  
"But you're also not very fond of arrows..."  
  
"FINE!"  
  
Behind me, the staircase had transformed to the side-scape of a modest mansion. The two french doors were locked, but their unyielding handles gave me a starting point. Cole was watching my every maneuver as I transitioned from brass to woodwork to--finally--trellis.   
  
"Envy was wrong. _Is_ wrong!" He cheered. "Your mind is _not_ weak. You think with more power than it can! Envy wanted to see you and sketch your shape. He wanted to make you see yourself and hate, but what you saw gave you strength to make sketches! What you saw made you stronger!"  
  
 As if physically wounded by this insult, Envy made a sound both cacophonous and strained.  "YOU WISH TO BE DIFFICULT? THEN _SEE_ THE LEGACY OF THE INQUISITION: IT'S FOLLOWERS, HOSTS TO DEMONS! YOUR WORLD--ASHES! SHOW ME WHAT YOU'D DO WITH THEM!"  
  
The thought of everyone who had helped me--Adan and his myriad of tactless nursemen, Solas, Sera, Seeker Pentaghast--reduced to shells for the bidding of nether...That thought cut me deeply. I may not have trusted them, but their lives didn't deserve to end at the hands of parasites! I could not see them like that! And to see them like that because of me?  
  
_I can't!_  
  
I was one step away from the roof when the sweat of my palm made me slide from its edge. All the effort I had made to travel up, and suddenly I felt myself slipping downward. My legs lost their limber freedoms and my arms returned to their stiffened state. For every ounce of panic gained, I lost a pound of ideas. The blessings of one thousands divines must have been upon me, for I felt a force take hold of both my wrists and haul me over that final hurdle.  
  
"Yes, you can," said Cole, and he helped me to stand before him, hands still wrapped firmly around my forearms. "You're making it hard for Envy to think. It will come out now. It's angry, but that's okay; so are you."  
  
I  gave him a stern nod and he released me.  
  
"Ready?" I asked, and he returned the gesture, but then vanished in a cloud of smoke.  
  
"UNFAIR, UNFAIR! THAT THING KEPT YOU WHOLE, KEPT YOU FROM GIVING ME YOUR SHAPE!"  
  
An imposter, identical to me, but fading, grabbed me from behind and pinned me to the shingles below. Envy would not be defeated without a fight.  
  
"I'm lame!" I shouted. "I'm a mage of scantily average talent. I have no connections, no allies! Even if you _did_ grow my knowledge of blood magic, it would be an eternity before I could bring forth demons strong enough to fell the inquisition! Why would you want to be _me_?!"  
  
Before it could answered, Cole's whisper sounded inches from my ear. "He's frightened of you."  
  
I pivoted my head and watched as the imposter's foot moved to kick the boy that lay at my side.  
  
_An Envy demon is frightened of me? Why? And if Cole is its subordinate, why would he stop my fall...?_ Could it be that I was strong? That something would ally with me without reason, without proof, without a need for my apologies and my self-defense? _No! I cannot have faith in such a fantasy--in the optimistic musings only a fool would accept!_  
  
I could not have survived my life had I carried such naivete with me in my life.  
  
_But this is not life, and without such imprudence, I would not have survived my_ mind.  
  
In a motion more fluid than anything my taut arms had ever accomplished, I caught the ankle of she-who-lacked-a-face mid-bend, then shoved her with all my might.  
  
Together, Cole and I watched as Envy toppled over the slanted gable. It was a moment that did not demand scrutiny, and yet it was more beautiful than any variant of blue I had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this was long and choppy. This is the last of the chapters that will trouble me. Unfortunately, that led me to procrastinate and I vomited this verbosity unto my keyboard at one in the morning.
> 
> I needed to get all this background in before I felt worthy of creative license over Cole. Chapter 4 is where the fun will really begin. Thank you for baring with me.


	4. Pruning Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dark and desperate, death to make yourself alive. I used to be like you. I'm not anymore. You shouldn't be either."
> 
> Following the events at Therinfal, Trevelyan is greeted with hostility at Haven. Little does she know, she's not alone. Cole, who she now owes her life, decided to tag along and offer his skills to the inquisition. He doesn't receive as warm of a welcome as he would have liked, but through their black-sheep status, he and the apostate he saved from Envy's clutches grow close. Trust is no longer an issue between the pair, but Cole's slim understanding of human customs certainly poses a challenge to Trevelyan's comfort zone. 
> 
> Bound to Cole through a blossoming friendship, a debt, and a duty, Trevelyan can't define their relationship. Even in a time where she so sorely wants an ally, asking Cole for his opinion only makes matters more complex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the creativity begins now! I hope my original content pairs well with what you've read in the last three chapters!
> 
> From now on we'll be focusing on Cole full-time. It's sure to be a fun journey--I hope you'll stick with me as I navigate the tougher terrain.

* * *

  
  
Scowls, glowers, and sullen pouts teemed and swarmed about me. Whereas I once traversed Haven in bolstered strides, I had returned to wade through a grimacing tide. I was condemned, but the villagers no longer mattered to me, not Adan's men nor the Herald. Coming back from my "political" mission, my thoughts stuck exclusively to the mages with whom I had been raised--they who had also rebelled from the Circle where frowning faces had been the norm. The templars I saw at Therinfal were no different than they who had kept me confined in the fortress of Magi. As far as I was concerned, one platoon had scraped their shields against their swords in the anticipation of slaying Envy while the other kept their sharpened blades within the reach of every helpless, magic heart. To me, that was the sole difference between the two assemblies. They, however, would have claimed to share a common enemy in volatile magic--the hypothetical which warranted the magically-talented to be stripped of their families and their rights. _We_ were considered hazards simply for having been born! _We_ were considered too fragile to guard ourselves, as if we possessed a side outside of our own command--too susceptible to the darkness within the fade! The temperance our kind had "mandated" could have, apparently, only been brought about by governing templars--they who wielded swords over staves and took lyrium to shield them from that same darkness. Had the red variant not proven that those of _all_ walks of life could easily be overthrown by their own human temptations? If I were to be consulted, I would argue that a templar who succumbed to lyrium's vices was of a danger equal to that of a mage flirting with possession. The events at Therinfal were indisputable evidence of this!  
  
Why then, even after the Herald truly _had_ consulted my opinion, was I being scorned? Had he not said that the inquisition had _needed_ my services? That he had _wanted_ me to pass judgement on the brigade of addicts? Well, after Envy had emerged from my head in its true form--naked, boneless, blinded, and grotesque--it had been killed. All doubts about the altruistic spirit who had rescued me were eradicated, for when Envy had fallen, Cole had remained standing, daggers hanging at his sides until the demon's death was confirmed. In that moment, I could no longer mistake him for a subordinate or a hoax, and, perhaps having read my thoughts on the matter, he had beamed at me before vanishing as per habit. That was all the conviction I had needed to realize that spirits were not the enemy--rather, the true, imminent threat laid within reddened lyrium the soldiers who had not questioned it. I had done as the Herald had requested: I gave a swift verdict which sealed their fate. It had been the only logic conclusion for someone who had seen all that I had, but to those who _hadn't_ been there, to those who hadn't seen the effects of red lyrium or felt Envy thrash within the confines of their skulls, disbanding the templar union was seen as nothing more than an evil acted out by fade-harnessing hands. Treason.  
  
I knew it was for exactly that reason I had been called to meet with the Herald, but I was no longer awe-struck over such a prospect. He had failed to close the breach, failed to investigate the meeting with the Lord Seeker, and though he had asked me for my honest judgement of the templars, now he was to blame me for the backlash. I had nearly been possessed in the name of an ill-sighted inquisition that could not protect its people. If I was to be banished, I would accept the punishment with ease. I waded out of the pool of piercing glares and into the chantry,  strutted briskly down the corridor, and threw open the door to the war room.  
  
"You summoned me again, ser Herald?" I snarled ever-so subtly. "I suspect this has to do with--oh!"  
  
I had been peering down at the dwarf with a wicked squint and it had taken me a moment to realize that several soldiers, including Commander Cullen and Seeker Pentaghast, had their blades drawn and pointed toward the war table. The compressed bodies obstructed my view of their target, and so I briefly believed that they intended to tie me to the wooden slab and torture me. That potential outcome was enough to erase my former apathy.  
  
"Um...Let's not do anything too hasty?" I flashed a nervous grin.  
  
"Why shouldn't we?" asked the Herald, unmoved. "He was the one who showed great ' _haste_ ' by materializing inside of a closed room!"  
  
"He? Who are you tal--?" I pushed one of the soldiers aside using my elbow, and once my view of the scene was clear, found myself staring at a familiar hat. " _Cole!_ " A quick smile sprung upon my lips--in earnest this time--before I realized what was happening. "Why the hell are you aiming your swords at Cole?! Lower them at once!"  
  
"Disregard that!" Cullen ordered his men and I did my best at conveying my ice to him through a dirty look. The pretty-boy hadn't been too eager to be in my presence after learning I was subject to a possession-attempt. "This... _thing_ claims to know you, Trevelyan and, considering you just addressed him with a name, I'm assuming he's not wrong?"  
  
I looked to the Herald, but he was silent, his thin brows knitted together as he awaited my explanation.  
  
"Herald, you know Cole as well!" I accused.  
  
"I've never seen this man...thing _...boy?_ \-- In my life!"  
  
For once, he didn't seem to be putting on an act, but I persisted. "It was Cole who provided us with information on the plot against the Empress Celene's life! He was the one who came to our aid in the fight against Envy! He--he yielded daggers and weaved in and out of sight! Surely you recognize him now?! He's a hero and your men are brandishing their weapons at him like he's our foe!"  
  
"It's okay." Cole mumbled into his knees, which he'd huddled under his chin. He rocked back and forth, eyes fixated on an arbitrary space in the map of Ferelden. "It's not their fault they don't remember. I didn't let them see me. People normally don't see me until I let them."  
   
"Oh." I felt myself deflate. _His little disappearing act is more intricate than I thought. They won't believe me even if I try to explain this._  
  
"What is he talking about?!" Seeker Pentaghast demanded. "If he's a demon, I want him executed _right. NOW."  
  
_ "Can we all just calm down, please?!" I shouted. "I...I'll admit I don't know exactly what Cole _is,_ but if he had any link to Envy, he would have died right along with him. As someone who's had a _real_ demon skulk about inside her, I'll ask you to trust me when I say Cole isn't one. Now let's put those blades down and talk like civilized adults. And Cole? Get off the war table, for Andraste's sake."  
  
"Yes." Cole said as the glinting silver was lowered from his neck. "I don't belong here--I'm not a war."  
  
I stifled a laugh, but to everyone else in the room, Cole's appeal to literal language made him all the more baffling.  
  
"Great. So far all he's told us is that templars 'don't like to be late' and that he's not a war. I don't care about what he's _not._ I care about what he _is_."  
  
"I understand your frustration, but this isn't something I can summarize so quickly. Cole seems like a spirit, but he isn't possessing a body that I can sense. He entered my mind along with the Envy demon and helped me resist it. He had the opportunity to let me die--even kill me!--dozens of times, but he kept offering to help. He saw what Envy planned for the inquisition and heard everything Envy said about the Elder One, but he fought against it all. I really do believe he's good-natured. I mean, if demons exist, I'd be willing to bet that other spirits exist of the opposite spectrum?"  
  
"Pure speculation!" Seeker Pentaghast objected. Lelianna followed.  
  
"Your original recount of events mentioned nothing about this Cole. I don't sense a threat from him either, but it seems like he may be having an influence over your mind, Trevelyan."  
  
I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "Yeah...I skirted around that issue." I admitted. "In my recount, I said a 'motivating force' guided me through the ordeal, but I had been referring to Cole. I just...I didn't think it would be a good idea to claim that I was helped by a teleporting spirit-boy. I...Didn't want anyone else to suggest that I had hit my head."  
  
It was Leliana's turn to laugh. "I've heard those rumours floating about!"  
  
Cole was standing behind me patiently, rocking to a rhythm within his heels. Now flustered by the return of the concussion-talk, I asked him,  
  
"Is there anything _you'd_ like to say to our people?" He instantly locked his gaze with Cassandra and began to wring his hands. I raised a warning eyebrow at her and assured him, "I won't let them hurt you."  
  
His breath immediately steadied. "Thank you," he sighed, then scanned the entire room, face by face. "You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do that. I can help!"  
  
_Ah, is he talking about how we saved Ser Barris? I suppose he truly does watch as much as he claimed._  
  
Slightly more relaxed, the Herald grumbled, "but _how_ can you help?"  
  
"The hole in the sky makes it too loud for spirits to think. It's pulling, _pushing_ out pain...I want to stop it. I...I can be hard to see! I can kill things that would hurt other people! I won't get in the way!"  
  
"It's true!" I vouched. "He fought Envy and _apparently_ I was the only one who noticed! I know it's not much to go on since I was the only audience member, but it was impressive. He's quick with those daggers of his!"  
  
"Charming!" cried Cullen. "Even if he is helpful, you're suggesting we give free reign of the camp to a sneaking spirit with dagger skills?"  
  
Leliana cut in on my behalf. "We could have people watch the boy, and the incoming templars know how to deal with magical enemies should we have any complications."  
  
The Herald stroked his beard with a pensive hum. "An excellent point. In fact, Trevelyan, since you seem so keen, why don't we have _you_ watch the boy?"  
  
"The thing was in her mind!" Seeker Pentaghast blurted out of turn. "You're suggesting we leave them alone together?!"  
  
" _If_ they are plotting anything--and I don't believe they are--it would be easier for my people to discern their plot if we were to observe the patterns in their interactions."  
  
Perhaps I had misjudged Leliana. She seemed quite content to back an apostate and the troubled apparition that had followed her home.  
  
"It's settled then!" announced the Herald. "Trevelyan, Cole is now yours to monitor! I'll take you on your word once more--consider it my sincerest apology for endangering you at the Redoubt."  
  
"I-but-wait!"  
  
With the same speed as they had displayed concerning the demise of Madame de Fer, everyone disbanded, leaving my jaw agape and Cole kicking at the stone flooring with a pleased demeanor.  
  
"We get to be together in the _watching_ this time! It will make much more sense than the hearing." He rejoiced with a shuddering at his own final statement. Still in shock, I had to swallow before my dry throat would let me reply.  
  
"I-I...ugh. I wouldn't be so sure about t-that, Cole."  
  
_Sweet Maker!  
  
_ "For now...Have you ever been to a tavern?"  
  
\--  
  
"Their faces follow yours-- _harsh_ , _hurtful, humiliating--_ they bother you."  
  
We didn't end up staying at Flissa's. On her part, service had been no more bumbling than usual, however, the patrons of the establishment had made me feel increasingly uncomfortable. In addition to the bitter environment, Sera had been there. After all she had done for me in the fray of battle, I couldn't bring myself to look at her. If she was among those with whom I had fallen out of favor, I did not wish to know. As I wandered, dejected, around the stronghold, Cole had found a way to keep himself occupied. I was not a fan.  
  
"They all hate me." I shrugged. "I disbanded the templar order because they had been too submissive and careless to recognize danger. All _they_ see," I gestured to the dispersed crowds of pilgrims and villagers, "is an apostate who took an opportunity to gain vengeance from her former captives. To be honest with you...they might not be wrong."  
  
My staff crunched down upon the snow with every pace we took. Cole watched it bob with a fascinated intensity. I got the impression that he wasn't fond of eye contact, but how could he be between his unkempt hair and floppy hat?  
  
"They don't... _hate_ you." He paused between his words tentatively, as if weighing the taste of each of them on his tongue. "They're frightened. Like Envy. They say your decisions are different than your look. You limp about, but able are the lips they see--lithe and lawful. They don't know that you burn behind them. They can't feel how loud you are _inside_..." A pause,  "You should show them. They might understand that way."  
  
"Again with 'loud'? You called me that before. What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I heal the helpless. Give hope where there is hurt. I have to hear hurt before I can help. Your head was louder than Leliana's before you even entered the chantry, and she was close to me! But...not as close as Cassandra's sword. You were louder than the sword, too."  
  
"...Oh. Shit. You can read minds here too." I stopped in my tracks and shuffled my feet. I wished we had gotten some wine after all. "Look, Cole, I don't want anyone to fix me or anything, okay? You're here to help the inquisition, not me. I don't need that."  
  
"I'm sorry." Cole said, still looking at the base of my staff, a hint of frustration wrinkling his forehead in the wake of its stillness. "I say it wrong sometimes. I did that, didn't I? I can make you forget, if that helps. I can start again. I-," a quick blink, "oh! I can make you forget about earlier too, when I came to help with Envy. That way, the story you told Leliana won't be a lie anymore."  
  
It was my turn to be concerned. I looked over at him and made eye contact, sincerity heavy in my voice. "Cole, you helped me at Therinfal. I wouldn't have survived without you. Leliana didn't mind a white lie and I don't, either. I don't want to forget that and you don't deserve to have that forgotten. And...No, you didn't say anything wrong. What you said was the truth. I'm...not the cheeriest person, but I'd like to try to beat my inner-demons on my own, if that's okay. You can say things however you want to say them. I might have to ask questions, but I'll accept your opinions. I owe you that much at least."  
  
"I helped!" Cole's mouth, which seemed to rest at a slight downward angle permanently, stretched into a wide smile. "It's good to hear. I will try, and you will try, too."  
  
I smiled back, semi-weakly. "Yeah, I hope so."  
  
  
Just as I had resumed the motion in my staff, there was a rustling in the nearby shrubbery. Gripping the hilt of my cane-turned-scepter-of-sorcery, I motioned for Cole to be quiet as I approached it, but he, in turn, shushed me.  
  
"Don't," he whispered, "it's a friend."  
  
Sure enough, not two moments later, a pink, sniffling nug made a startled grand entrance from the bush to the interception of our path. Cole had somehow gotten himself a strand of elfroot in a matter of micro-seconds and he tried to offer it to the creature, but it scuttled away. I couldn't keep myself from giggling as Cole's suddenly brightened demeanour had shifted to something postively forlorn.  
  
"Like nugs, do you? It's okay. There are plenty around here you can make friends with. For now, we can give that elfroot to the healers. That would be very helpful to them."  
  
Cole nodded. "I'd like that."  
  
We turned around, following our own footsteps in the snow as we began the small tread to Adan's hut. Seeker Pentaghast seemed to be heading the same way, but she turned abruptly on her boots and promptly marched off in the opposite direction. Others took notice and began leering. I suspected they couldn't see Cole, and so his unusual fashion sense could not have been to blame. I was the unpopular one and it left me feeling rather crestfallen.  
  
"Cole?" I mumbled absent-mindedly as my gaze followed a little girl. Hand-in-hand with who I presumed to be her mother, she kept turning back to stare at me, face scrunched up like a raisin. Was it my reputation or my walking?  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You said the nug was your friend even though you didn't hear its thoughts for very long."  
  
"Nugs are quiet, I like them, and that one didn't want to hurt us. It just didn't want to _be_ hurt. People hurt them, but they don't hurt people. Nugs are friendly."  
  
"Um, right...So, would you say that you and I...Would you call us friends?"  
  
Call it loneliness or impetuosity, but for whatever reason I so badly wanted Cole to say yes, it wasn't admiration. Maybe I wasn't so hardened by the conditions of the Circle--maybe I longed for...congregation? Intimacy? Approval? What was it that people got out of friendships and families again?  
  
My question seemed to puzzle Cole a great deal. He really thought about it, twisting the stem of the elfroot between his fingers and rendering it limp.  
  
"Hmmm..." he mused. "I don't know? I don't think so...but.... _maybe_? I had friends before...But friends teach and travel and talk, then they turn. You aren't like them--aren't like that. Not yet, anyway."  
  
_Ouch._  
  
"I...I'm sorry Cole. I distracted you. I...uh...don't think that elfroot is very useful anymore."  
  
Cole looked down at the herb interwoven between his knuckles. "Oh...But the nugs will still eat it if I wait long enough!"  
  
He was quite the optimist, almost painfully so.  
  
"Maybe." I tried my best to sound encouraging. "You can keep trying--I think I'll go rest for the night. It's been a... _busy_ day for me."  
  
"But you haven't eaten supper yet!" Cole protested. "Will the Herald be angry if you're not watching me?"  
  
I smirked. "I have a feeling Leliana's people would be better equipped to catch you if you started running, Cole. Or maybe better _unequipped,_ since they wouldn't need staves." The joke eluded the poor spirit. "Goodnight, Cole."  
  
  
\--  
  
My quarters had never been large, but I preferred them that way. Originally, I had shared a sleeping-space with dozens or more female refugees, but even when I was transferred to a new chamber solely intended for mages, the others had been unsettled by me. Whether it had to do with my nobility or the fact that I hadn't killed any templars during the initial rebellion, I was eventually relocated to an area the side of a broom closet, near the upper regions of the chantry. The only amenity it boasted which could separate it from a cell was a small window without bars. Still, the arrangement was functional, and I was able to wind myself into a linen embrace with my bedsheets--my favoured position on a difficult night.  
  
I didn't know what to make of my new life. It seemed to be such a small improvement from the Circle, despite all it's freedoms. In the Circle, we were all despised equally, never individually, and we found contentment in a state that was both together and apart. The little free time made us appreciate silence and one was never faulted for her shyness. The Circle enchanters were warm enough, and though certain templars had a flare for abuse, it was a routine life. There was comfort to be found in the predictability of it all, and since I could have faith in the fact that nothing would change, I never allowed myself to be open to hope or its betrayals.   
  
Haven was entirely opposite. My actions were being watched, but I had no instruction. I was individually monitored and individually evaluated. I was getting ambushed by meetings and spirits and possessions and... _buckets!_ Everything at Haven had been a test and I feared that I was failing.  
  
_But you would have failed your harrowing too, had the rebellion not happened before you were due for it!_ I scolded myself for thinking my fate at the Circle would be any better. _Whatever they do in harrowings, you've already proven you're weak against opposing magical forces! You would have been killed by a templar or, best case scenario, made tranquil, and that is no life all the same!  
  
_ The more I pondered it, the more tranquility seemed like my only viable option. I would forever be vulnerable and hated if I remained connected to the fade. My emotions, my dreams, the things that weighed me down in times of pressure--they could all be taken away by tranquility!  
  
_But no circle, not in all of the Free Marches, would have ever accepted my appeal to be made tranquil. The Ostwick fortress had hated the double-liability of a lame mage_ , _but they hated blood magic more._ _They would have never let me. They would have sooner sentenced me to my death via harrowing. They would have been happier to see me dead, probably from the very start, and it would be no different had I been born normally--I would have been a shame to my household as_ well...  
  
Was death the only favour I could do the world?  
  
_There once was another way...I could go back, but--  
  
_ "You tried teaching yourself so you could heal your hurt--the hurt you thought they had--but it was hard. You'd have to go to Tevinter to find another one."  
  
The voice in the darkness made my limps jump and flail beneath their bindings. Automatically, I sent fire from my palm straight to the wick of the bedside candle. It was a wonder that, in spite of my panic, I hadn't set the barrel below it ablaze.  
  
"GAH! ANDRASTE'S TITS, COLE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"  
  
"You shouldn't yell. Other people are trying to sleep now, too."  
  
" _YOU_ SHOULDN'T JUST BE... _POOFING_ BEHIND LOCKED DOORS. _"  
  
_ "But...You didn't eat. It's hard to sleep when you're hungry. If you're not sleeping, you get loud from trying to sleep. Especially you."  
  
I noticed that, by the doorway, he had left a plate containing bread, a bowl of soup, and an apple. I assumed he had used his particular _talents_ to lift food from the kitchen. I regretted yelling at him, it was a kind gesture, but I was not in a state of mind that allowed me to have an appetite.  
  
"Thank you, Cole, really. I'm sorry for yelling...Um, you really should respect locks...But it was nice of you to bring me food! I don't really feel like eating right now, but you're welcome to anything in the kitchen, too. Why don't you eat it?"  
  
"I don't eat," he said plainly, "those are old songs." He began to rock again, but in the dim candle light, I couldn't make out which direction had captivated his focus. "You _are_ hungry, you're just saying you're not. The songs pull you in weird ways, too."  
  
"There's a difference between being hungry and not wanting to eat." I did my best to remain calm with him. "I'm sorry, I just don't want it."  
  
"You don't have to let the blood magic stop you from eating. You're not bad because of it. You didn't learn it to hurt people."  
  
With more effort, unraveling, and struggling than I'd care to admit, I rose from the bed and grabbed the candle, moving in jerks without my staff as I approached Cole.  
  
"That is _enough_ _!_ " I snarled. "I told you I didn't want you to fix me, I told you I didn't want your food, and now I'm telling you to _get out!"_  
  
"I-I'm sorry! I said it wrong! _Forget!_ " Cole cried, then a nothingness hung between us.  
  
"What are you waiting for?! You already said you weren't my friend, so just get out already!"  
  
"Why isn't it working?!" Cole's loudness suddenly matched my own. "Y-you can't forget? Why can't you forget?!"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about and I don't care!" I shrieked. "Take your food and go!"  
  
Cole's seemed too taken aback to make noise. I picked up the bowl of soup with my free hand and was prepared to launch it straight at his hat when a breeze lifted the hem of my white nightgown. I was too preoccupied to hold it down, but something else wasn't right. Where had that gust come from? I turned my hand so that the candle's flame would illuminate the wall at Cole's back.  
  
"Why did you open my windooooOHSWEETMAKER!" I dropped the soup bowl, sending shards of porcelain and a steaming liquid to litter the floorboards. "WHY ARE THERE UNPEELED PLUMS ON MY WINDOW SILL AND HOW IN ANDRASTE'S NAME ARE THEY ATTRACTING FLIES THIS LATE IN THE EVENING?"  
  
Suddenly cured of his paralysis, Cole chimed in. "Spiders need to eat, too!"  
  
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, YOU BROUGHT SPIDERS IN HERE?! I NEARLY BURNED DOWN THE CHANTRY TRYING TO KILL THEM ALL WHEN I CAME! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! I HATE SPIDERS!"  
  
"Fire, arrows, heights, spiders...You don't like a lot of things, Emmeline."  
  
"YEAH? WELL YOU CAN TAKE THAT LIST AND GO ADD YOURS-- Wait...What did you just call me?"  
  
"You use the fire when it wants to help you, even if it helps you hurt the spiders...Why not the templars at the Seeker Fortress?"  
  
"Cole!"  
  
"Oh! I called you by your name. Emmeline. Your mother named you that because she thought it would suit a young lady, but she could still call you things that wouldn't while you weren't one. _Emmy, Linnie, Emme_...She thought you were beautiful, even when you came out crooked."  
  
I felt a knot form in my throat as he tapped his feet on the ground, crushing one of the soup-bowl pieces into an even tinier fragment, then picking up the more jagged piece to examine it. "She wouldn't have wanted you to think about the blood magic. She didn't like the magic at all, but she would have liked the blood magic less."  
  
"Cole...I...How did you...?" I trailed off and went to grab his arm, to bring him close, to say I was sorry. The billowing of my nightgown didn't matter anymore. The minefield of glass around my bare feet didn't concern me anymore than the sticky remnants of their previous contents did. All that had mattered was remembering how Cole was a spirit who helped, and I had tried to deny him that. To tell him what was wrong. To paint him as deformed. Yes, that was all that had mattered...  
  
...Until I felt a foreboding crawling sensation at my ankle.  
  
"SHIT! SPIDER, SPIDER, SPIDER, SPIDER!" I wailed and slipped, slicing my leg on one of the many sharp witnesses to the pitiful scene. "OW! SERIOUSLY?!"  
  
"Don't hurt it!" Cole begged as he, in horror, watched me ruffle and toss the lace of my skirt. I squinted in the direction where I thought he would be standing. The candle had been extinguished in my tumble, but it hadn't scorched anything on the way down. Gown now bloodied, soup-stained, and contaminated by arachnid essence, I growled,  
  
"Damn it, Cole, trust me. The spider is _not_ the one you should be worried about right now."


	5. Amity with Arachnids

"I'm sorry," Cole echoed for what must have been the dozenth time, watching me wind gauze over my red-ribbon streaked calf, "D-do you think poultices would help? I can get some! I-I know where the healers keep them!" The restless boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uneasily twiddling his thumbs. Moments before, his staid semblance had impressed me. Between periods of dissipation and materialization, he had retrieved an excess of candles, ointments, and cloth compresses without so much as a word of request between us. In his final grand-reentry, he had borne a match, lit and poised tactfully between the tips of his index and forefinger, which had allowed me to see the partial placidity of his face. Silently engaged in the tasks he had taken on of his own command, Cole arranged the  wax-settled wicks about the area and ignited them one by one, each illuminating more and more of his aloof profile. I had been feeling a heavy penitence over my previous display of belligerence, and so I, equally mute, sat at the foot of my bed and watched him as he fussed and frenzied over fixing my mistakes. Now, it was his turn to be out of his element, idle and uncomfortable as he witnessed my fumbled bandage-work. He had offered to wrap the gauze in my place, but I had sensed something half-hearted in his voice, as if his desire to prove useful was conflicted with an unease surrounding physical contact. To spare him the difficulty of an internalized war, I had insisted upon caring for myself, but sadly I was no better at tying strips of cloth around my own flesh than I was at conjuring remedial wards.  
  
"Cole, don't apologize." I, too, parroted in an instance which must have been once beyond the eleventh. "And no--we should save the poultices for those of a more dire need...thank you for offering, though." He nodded, but swallowed a lump of obvious disagreement in his throat. As he turned his attention to a spider climbing the toe of his boot, I noticed him grimace, as if uncertain of what to do with the eight-legged creature now that its kind had caused me to tantrum. Guilt was gnawing at my heart, the tension in the room was choking, and optimism felt as scarce as oxygen. "Um...Hey, do you know what material is laced within these dressings, Cole? It's really soothing! Uh, I appreciate it!"  
  
My hopeful grin and thickly upbeat tone were instantly defeated when he muttered "spiderwebs," in response.  
  
"Oh..."  
  
My fingers slipped and the ends of the compression strips fluttered slack to my ankle. Cole quickly looked up, eyes flickering from the failed adherence to my face, gauging my reaction for any indicator of pain.

 _As if reading my mind wouldn't reveal more._  
  
"I'm trying not to," he whispered, "your mind is different...And you said I should respect locks..." He bit his lip and gestured toward the fallen cloth at my heel. "Do you want me to--?"  
  
I blushed and vehemently shook my head. "No, no, Cole. It's...It's fine. I-I'm... _I'm_ fine. But...What do you mean? Is my mind locked? Didn't you read it just now?"  
  
"No...But yes. I tried to make you forget and you remembered...It would have helped. I'm sorry it didn't. Maybe helping hurts you more, like Sera, so I'm trying not to hear. It  _is_ hard, but maybe not helping helps you the most?" He was shifting his weight nervously again, causing the spider to scuttle off his shoe in a panic. "I didn't want to hurt you."  
  
I felt myself break on those last words, as did his voice. My self-condemnation had gone from nibbling between the bars of my ribcage to swallowing my entire cardiac makeup in one savage gulp. I willed myself to be unmade--to fade into the obscurities untouched by the loving glow of candlelight--but try as I may, such a talent belonged only to Cole, who, in spite of all his own guilt, remained present for judgement. Not nearly so admirable, I hugged my knees to my chest in an attempt to shrink, and hid my head in my lap.  
  
"Damn it, Cole," I sighed into the thin fabric of my nightclothes, "I'm the one who hurt _you._ Please don't take any fault for this. Please stop."  
  
"But you told me no! I should have listened! The bread and the soup and the plums _are_ my fault! I shouldn't stop feeling sorry until its fixed!"  
  
"No." I raised my chin and stared off into the nothingness. "The food, both for me and for the spiders, was a good thing. I'm the one who yelled and dropped the glass. I'm the one who didn't listen to you. I hurt myself, and _I'm_ the only one who needs to fix things and feel sorry here. Okay?"

He seemed to relax, but still pondered the idea deeply before speaking. "Maybe, but you were hurt when I called you Emmeline. I did _that._ "  
  
With every impulsive reaction to Cole's innocent intentions recalled, I grew more sick with shame. I groaned softly and resisted the urge to grovel at the figment's spectral feet. "No, oh Cole, _no._ That didn't _hurt_! I don't know how to explain...I--Oh _maker_ , I'm just so sorry."  
  
Cole nodded and looked out the still-open window. "It's loud. I know."  
  
"You...Um, my loudness really bothers you...It would help us both-- _truly_ us both--if you were more comfortable. I can finish this by myself and you can go somewhere else, if you'd like. It looks like you cleared all the glass from the floor so I should be fine."  
  
"I like quiet better than loud," Cole admitted, "but here is better right now. I want to stay until everything is fixed."  
  
I wanted to protest, but I didn't feel I was in any sort of position to order Cole around. Instead, I reluctantly offered my finger as a perch for a wayward arachnid and did my best to appear content when it was accepted. "Speaking of fixing things," I said, "you knew that this kind of fabric was helpful to the healers and calming for the patients, didn't you? That's why you lured all these flies and spiders to the stronghold?"  
  
"Yes. They like windows. They make good homes."  
  
"Right...Well, I'm sorry for not realizing that the spiders deserve homes, too. I can see they're doing a very important job."  
  
"If you want to bring their silk to Adan, remember to make the spider safe first."  
  
"It's a promise." I did my best to convey my sincerity while cringing at the sensation of eight different appendages grazing my wrist.  
  
"Good."  
  
"And...It's okay to call me Emmeline, just like you call Adan by his name. It's just...It's no excuse for how I acted, but I'm not used to being called that."  
  
"Trevelyan is your name, too." Cole pointed out curiously.  
  
"It is," I conceded, "but it's still a different kind of name. Everyone calls me by a name that...Um, that I _share_ , but it's been a long time since I've been addressed by a name that's just mine."  
  
"But other people are called Emmeline in the Free Marches."  
  
"No other Trevelyan is, though. That's what makes it mine."  
  
"Oh." He mused. "Would it be better if I called you Trevelyan? Like Adan does?"  
  
I thought about it for a moment. "I don't think so. Emmeline is unusual, but I think I like it better."  
  
"Then it helped!" Cole half-exclaimed, half-asked with excitement. "I thought it hurt! You didn't like thinking about your mother."  
  
I gave a slight giggle and a shrug. "That's true, I don't like it, but it did help. If it's okay with you, I'd rather not be reminded of my family. Even if it ends up helping, it's not worth the initial pain. Does that make sense?"  
  
Cole pursed his lips and cocked his head at me. "Not really," he said, "people always hurt before I help them, but then they feel better, better than they did before the hurt, too. If I need it to help, the hurt should be okay."  
  
"I guess it depends who you ask. Personally, I think having a dull, subconscious pain follow me throughout my life would be better than having agony hit me all at once to make it go away."  
  
"But...Then it's gone. It goes away forever."  
  
"I know. But the future isn't the sort of time I focus on. I focus on the present, and in the present, I want to hurt as little as possible."  
  
Cole seemed increasingly perplexed by this statement. "But, the present--blinking and breathing--becomes the past, becomes the future! The past can hide, can creep, can _conceal_ , can continue _presence_. Present is dying, decay, deep but dashing. Present _can_ drift, but it doesn't always. When it _does_ and becomes persistent past, sometimes present hurting _doesn't_ , so future-- _advancing, approaching, but always avoiding_ _\--_ can take its place! Present hurting isn't like that. The future won't take it when it's alone."  
  
There was a stillness between us as Cole's intense gaze awaited my teaching, forehead wrinkled and brow knitted beneath his shaggy, hanging bangs. I blinked at him as I attempted to process his rebuttal, then opened and closed my lips, flapping them slowly, like a guppy, while trying to formulate my own. In the end, I deflated my proud shoulders and shook my head. For a mage, my spirit-communication skills were certainly lacking.  
  
"I don't know," I confessed, "maybe you're right."  
  
"But if you don't know and I can't learn, how can I know that helping is right? Knowing is permanent, but I've known wrong things before. I brought death when it didn't help. I don't want to hurt like that again."  
  
"You've killed people?"  
  
"Yes. I didn't know how to be like what I was--what I am--I made hurt. I made friends, too. Friends who taught me what help _would_ help and what help would hurt."  
  
"So you recognize that as a mistake? You won't do that again, will you?"  
  
Oddly enough, he seemed relieved by my skepticism. "No. If I stop being what I am, you need to kill me. I _won't_ hurt people again."  
  
I weighed the option within my mind. If Cole had been reformed once, couldn't he do it again if he were to make another mistake? He had placed a sort of emphasis on not knowing what he was when he murdered, though. Perhaps now that he knew, he felt that there would be no further excuse for hurt? I suppose such a system would make sense--spirits shouldn't be held to the same standards as humans. Change, in a benevolent spirit, could only lead to a demon.  
  
"So, what are you?" I asked.  
  
"I'm...Different." He shrugged.  
  
_So maybe he doesn't know, even now._  
  
I changed the subject. Defining Cole seemed to be a can of worms that should be opened after more time than twenty-four hours had passed.  
  
"Cole...Going back to my mother...Did she really think I was beautiful?"  
  
"Yes. Tiny but not trifling--temperate; content to take in the tremendous, untrodden  _terren_. A true Trevelyan, but also as adorable and animated as any of those before you. _Imperfect_ , they would say, but your coos, cool and cute, and the soft sighing in the rise and fall of your breast, it was all immaculate to her. Unrivaled among the other day-olds, she thought."  
  
Tears graced my low lashes and threatened to spill over. "How do you know that?" I murmured in a wish to veil my shivering voice.  
  
"Your tangles are twisted with hers. Her memories aren't touchable to me, but yours are tangible, tactile, making hers translucent, I hear notes of her in your song."  
  
I found his reply to be pure and palpable. Without hesitation, perhaps out of ravenous hope, I felt comforted. I felt  _faith._ A faint whimper was caught within an exhale that escaped my lips. I shuddered out a weak "O-oh, I...I see." and Cole took a tentative step toward me.  
  
"The past and the present are plaiting now! I-I'm sorry! I still don't know if it's right!"   
  
I waved him off and scoffed, but it came out more like a stifled sob. "I'm the one who asked you to tell me. It's fine."  
  
He paused, watching me curl my toes and pull my knees even tighter to myself. "It's okay to cry," he said, and I suddenly wished he hadn't lit so many candles.  
  
A few tears rolled onto my nightgown, leaving the lace a darkened grey. "That's good to know." I tried to laugh, but the end result was pathetic. "I cry a lot."  
  
Cole nodded as if agreeing with that admission, wringing his hands as he stood a few feet across me, unsure of himself without his amnesia-inducing abilities.  
  
"You were right," I assured him, "It's better to feel a bit of pain if it means it helps you in the long run."  
  
He stilled his palms and his eyes gleamed with wanting. "Are you sure?"  
  
I was still attempting to hold back an ocular flood, but talking had rendered such a feat impossible. "Mh-mhm," I quavered, "I forgot how lonely it gets when I'm left to my thoughts. I'm glad I'm not the only one in my head tonight--it wasn't an easy day." There was no sound as I watched more water accumulate on the fabric stretched thin between my knees. "I...I don't want my mind to be like a lock to you, Cole. I...would appreciate your company."  
  
Cole sighed as if I had lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders. " _Thank you."_  
  
I flashed him a silly thumbs-up as a gesture of welcome, then I, too, relaxed, allowing my limbs to sprawl out as I laid on my side and closed my eyes.  
  
"Is it really that difficult for you to resist helping someone? You said Sera was off-limits or something?"  
  
"Sera is frightened, fussing, flouting. Like the others, she calls me Demon. I...I can't help her without making it worse."  
  
_Oh, I guess I didn't notice. Cole's just as estranged as I am. That doesn't seem fair. He's so harmless, so benign..._  
  
But I had treated him poorly as well. I was no better.  
  
"Cole, I'm so sorry. I was wrong about you--everything about you. As far as I'm concerned, you're permitted to help in any way you can. Nevermind those who are bothered by plums."  
  
The whole demeanour of the earnest, frevid hominid-haunter brightened upon hearing those words. "In that case," he said, suddenly appearing crouched at my side and causing me to spring my lids open, "I'll do this." The moment he grabbed my discarded bandages, I tensed and began to protest. Clearly, some explanation of etiquette involving undressed ladies was needed, but his fingers were so nimble and spry that he was almost finished by the time I found my tongue.  
"It's alright," he lulled as he worked, sensing my discomfort "I don't mind. I'll be quick."  
  
_Speed is not the problem!_  
  
He stopped and looked up at me, blue eyes piercing mine as he cocked his hatted head in that signature, bird-like movement of his.  
  
"But you can't do it, and you can't go to bed without a wrapping."  
  
"Well, fine!" I blurted, flustered and void of tears out of shock, "but don't stop! You...It would be bad if anyone knew you were lingering right now!" I looked away from him, cheeks burning fiercely.  
  
Clearly he did not understand, but he was intelligent enough not to ask questions. "Alright..." he trailed off perplexedly, and I answered with a curt quietude. "Done."  
  
He tied a tight knot with what felt to be no more than I flick of his wrist. I bashfully thanked him, then, as a sort of a peace offering, grasped his shoulder to help me stand before walking over and taking the apple that had once accompanied a bowl of soup. There was a distinctive noshing sound as my teeth penetrated the flesh of the fruit, and I smiled sheepishly as the juice trailed down my chin. Cole seemed pleased to see me take my meal, even if it was a small portion of what had originally been intended.  
  
"There," he said, satisfied. "Do you need me to help you into bed?"  
  
I shook my head. "I should be fine. Thank you, Cole, for tonight."  
  
He disregarded the denial. "But there are candles all over the floor, you might trip."  
  
"Maybe," I laughed, "I guess that's just a risk I'm willing to take. You've done enough. I can handle this duty on my own."  
  
He frowned. His lacking knowledge of humour was all-too apparent. "But why would you? You would need more bandages if you burned yourself, and I'm right here. And you said you didn't want to use any poultices, but you'd have to if you fell on fire."  
  
"Fine, Cole, if it makes you less anxious, you can help me into bed."  
  
"Good."  
  
He rose from the foot of mattress and approached me by my left. His previous disturbance surrounding physical contact must have dissolved entirely, for he hardly displayed a moment's hesitation before taking my arm and guiding across the three steps it took us to reach the small, cushioned plank. I sat down on its edge and made a show of examining my flesh for burn marks.  
  
"You're not hurt." Cole reassured me, once again missing the jest.  
  
"Good to know."  
  
An awkward stillness passed between us as I realized I would likely revert to the same mental state of insomnia as soon as I was left untended. Especially with my new eight-legged roommates roaming freely.  
  
"Hey," I piped up with a twinge of meekness, "if you like to solve hunger across various species, I wouldn't suppose you have a solution for those who need sleep?"  
  
"I do, but it might not work on you if you can't forget."  
  
"Oh!" His broad range of talents surprised me. "Could you try?"  
  
Cole gestured for me to lie down. "Alright, but you haven't finished your apple."  
  
"It's almost sunrise. I think I need a few hours of sleep more than I need citrus, breakfast will be soon." He nodded, but bit his lip yet again, looking off somewhere in the distance. "Something wrong?" I asked.  
  
Rather than replying, Cole turned to peer down at me and waved a hand over my eyes. As the room around us faded from my view, I heard my apple hit the floor with a thud. The last thing I saw was the tip of Cole's hat as he bent down to retrieve it, hushed like the wind.  
  
"Goodnight, Emmeline."  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long, stressful week at university, I filled myself up with alcohol and Chinese food last night. Sorry for the delay, I hope this installment didn't reflect my exhausted state. It was slightly shorter than usual, but I felt it was necessary to simplify the story after the complex bundle of backstory in the chapters prior to this one.
> 
> It's a little more fluffy than I intended, but I hope such a thing is to your enjoyment.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Horns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Befriending Sera and The Iron Bull proves to only worsen Trevelyan's sense of home within Haven. An escapade to the Hinterlands has the unexpected half of the Cole-Trevelyan duo considering a true escape, but In the hindsight horns declaring a disaster, the very concept of that exodus is recognized for how wrong it would have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long, I'm so sorry. It's exam time and final paper time for university. I hope I can promise you updates once a week in May. Thank you for sticking with me.
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: I have been asked if it is okay to share excerpts of my work on Tumblr. I do not have a Tumblr account and know very little about Tumblr, but I am extremely flattered that someone wants to share this fanfic. Therefore, so long as Tumblr has a way for you to give me credit as the author of this fanfic (please don't pass it off as your own work), share this wherever you please!

 

* * *

 The punt of the wine bottle was brought down upon the bar-top with a dissonant thunk. The midday patrons of Flissa's tavern momentarily halted their hush small-talk and overlooked their luncheon plates to peer at us, but Sera, snorting between her sputter-like snickers, seemed too amused by her own humour to notice. The surrounding patrons had been enjoying quiet sips of tea with what few brethren they had found at Haven and I had planned on doing the same, but the only brethren I had at Haven were  a spirit as confusing as he was confused, and an abrupt elf who did little to recognize my desire for discretion. Perhaps not so fortunately, the latter had found me first. As much as I enjoyed a glass of Rowan's Rose, it was barely noon. The devout, chantry-sheltered pilgrims made it obvious that speech of any kind should have been carried out in a whisper as light as morning dew itself until a later hour, and I, a black sheep already, had wanted to begin the day by following social protocol. So much for that.  
  
"Get it?!" She roared. I simply blinked at her, mystified. I had to do a double-take but sure enough, the bottle still had not been uncorked. If this is how she behaved sober...

 _Andraste have mercy_.  
  
"Oh c'mon! It's funny because--well, there's not _really_ a because...Just...NO BREECHES!"  
  
Poor Flissa was frozen helplessly behind the counter, obviously wanting to look in any direction but ours, and being incapable of doing so. I managed a polite smile at Sera and motioned for the poor tavern maiden to provide me with a corkscrew, giving her a task with which to become occupied if not to merely sate my sudden desire to drink. _A lot._  
  
"Aww, no fun! Opening it with your magic-whatever would be a great way to close some of the already puckered arseholes 'round here!" Sera whined.  
  
"I...I'm not sure my goal should be to... _Disturb_ people any further." I murmured with a hissing edge, trying to encourage her to lower her voice, especially in conversations involving "arseholes". She had succeeded in stunning even the bard, who stood doe-eyed at her station, scanning the room and attempting to hide the cheeky grin that appeared each time Sera's excitement nearly caused her to fall from her stool. Finally, at the thanks of the rather... _Aggressive_ throat-clearing of a by-stander who I recognized as a former templar, the minstrel sprung back to life. With expert precision, she began to strum a tune that showed great promise in assuaging the appetites of the disgruntled diners.

" _Find me_  
_Still searching_  
_For someone_  
_To lead me._  
_Can you_  
_Guide me_  
_To the revolt inside me?_  
  
_Promise_  
_Surviving_  
_The breach..._  
  
_Promise_  
_Surviving_  
_The breach_  
_In the sky._ "

  
"No, see, that's exactly what _has_ to get done!"  
  
The melody seemed to have the opposite effect on Sera, riling her up. If she escalated any further, the poor bard would have no chance at being heard.  
  
"...I don't follow. Why do we _have_ to disturb people?"  
  
"The glowy dwarf loves all his experts, yeah? Well I know people who are stuck up their own arses when I see them. Everyone's so focused on getting rid of that breachy-thing, but when you get rid of _breech_ -y things, they notice something besides the smelly hole in the sky. That means _I_ get to notice less arseholes everywhere I go! Cramped, hairy arseholes like _these_!"  
  
I had barely unscrewed the cork when Sera grabbed the bottle and swiveled in her seat, moving the wine in an encompassing gesture in order to address the whole room.  
  
I buried my face in my hands. "Sera, please!"  
  
"What? You think you can get these uppity-snups to look you in the eye if you grovel enough? Shut up and listen. They don't like you, yeah? And they're not going to. That doesn't matter, because I like you, and even if we don't get to nick the breach that matters, you can soil a few knickers and I can nick a few breeches. They think you're scary. I like magic as much as I like dragon's piss or man-parts, but scary's useful."  
  
In a fraction of a moment, Sera's passion had gone from infantile to sensible. She met a few snide remarks from those she offended with her raspberry-veteraned tongue, took a mighty swig from the glass neck, and allowed the liquid inside to rush back to the bottle in a distinctive slosh as, once again, the bottle was slammed on the table. That same tongue then again became motivational, almost diplomatic, as she addressed my astounded stillness.  
  
"Hey, you speechless? Hah, well, it's a brilliant idea, innit? If you can't beat 'em or kiss up, use their whinging to do some good!"  
  
She slid the wine my way and I stopped its skittering with hesitant fingers. "I suppose...Um...Yes, well...Yes. But I wasn't surprised by tha--I mean, the other part, um...If we could ignore the planning for a moment..."  
  
"Ugh. You got something to ask, Trevy, just ask it. I don't like waiting for words. Words are boring. We're here to have _fun_."  
  
"Right. Just...You said you like me? As in...Um, you _don't_ think I'm possessed by a demon or getting vengeance against templars or--or that I've been hit in the head?!"  
  
"Hit in the--what? No. Listen. I don't like your magic, and don't get me started on what happened with you and demon-thingys. I wasn't fond of you before, but you were smart to disband the circus of polished helmets and shiny boots. Those people were too bigoted to think. Pricks. I don't care if you did it to spite them, I'm just glad it's done. I respect smart choices, yeah?...Though, I might have lost a bit of respect when I heard you were babysitting that...thing."  
  
"Who? Cole?" I took a small sip of the wine, smirking and elated to hear someone sing my praises for once. "He's...Different, but I truly believe he's harmless."  
  
"Tsch! It has a name! Whatever, just don't tell that to the mini-herald! He made you watch it so you could see if it was dangerous, right? If you tell the Herald it's dangerous, it'll be killed...Or at least leave!"  
  
"Sera, as happy as the idea of your respect makes me, I don't want our friendship to be founded on lies. Cole seems to pose no threat to anyone in Haven, and if it were to be dishonest to the Herald to please others, I'd be no better than a big, lying noble, would I not?"  
  
Sera grimaced, clearly displeased by my trump in logic, and snatched the wine from my grasp, taking another hefty chug. "Fine, fine! I won't judge you yet, Trevy, but I swear, if I see you and him doing more than feeding grass to rats, I'll shoot you both right in your bits!"  
  
"Glad to hear it, but I don't recall feeding any grass to any rats...OH, wait! You must be talking about the nugs!" I laughed and Sera furrowed her brow. "Uhm, well, yes. I spent a considerable amount of time giving the nugs their own breakfast after I ate. Cole seems oddly attached to them, and--well, I owe him for something that happened last night so I let him choose his repayment. That's just what he wanted us to do together this morning."  
  
Sera knocked over the bottle, sending its red contents to stain the woodware.  
  
"Last night?! YOU'RE BEDDING CREEPY?!"  
  
The song abruptly stopped, as did Flissa's breathing, perhaps. Either way, the area was filled with a paradoxical chaos without motion.  
  
"MAKER, NO! I--FOR THE LOVE OF ANDRASTE, NO!--I JUST BROKE HIS SOUP BOWL!"  
  
"You...Broke his bowl? Is that what they call first base in the Free Marches or something?" Sera asked, turning my cheeks the colour of velveteen.  
  
She couldn't even handle seeing me sputter for a second before she exploded in the resumption of her cacophonous snicker-snort.  
  
"you should see your face!"  
  
"I--Oh, Maker be damned!"  
  
"It's alright, you! I know you aren't _that_ friendly with it. Could you imagine if you were, though?! I mean, it's fleshy enough, but does it have real blood so it's fleshy parts can--?|  
  
Finally, Flissa had had enough. "S-STOP!" she cried, stiff as though we were holding her at knife-point. "IF YOU COULD P-PLEASE--NO! I-I, I MEAN YOU _HAVE_ TO STOP! I-I'M GOING TO HAVE TO ASK YOU BOTH TO LEAVE!"

 I was mortified. So much for improving my tarnished reputation. Leave it to Sera to lower my pride when I thought it had hit rock bottom. She, on the other hand, seemed almost pleased by the spectacle.  
  
"What, it was a valid question, yeah?" She roared. "But if you're all too uppity to ask the important questions at the end of the stupid world, fine! Me 'n' Trevy here will show you all! 'Sides, this sty doesn't even serve Mackay's Epic! Can't be a bloody tavern without a good single malt!"  
  
It was impossibly slow and difficult to keep one hand on my staff while the other was busy dragging a shouting rogue out the door. Though we had no doubt caused quite the commotion, by the time I had managed to limp us both out to the cold, I could already hear the atmosphere of the establish devolve back to its demure customs, forgetting all traces of dither as soon as it left sight.  
  
"I don't know, Sera," I began thoughtfully, "even without your preferred whiskey, I think that Tavern is serving its duty well."  
  
She shook her arm out of my hold, much to my relief.  
  
"Screw whatever that means. They're all pricks." She said, then stomped off in a hurry, indicating no destination and issuing no invitation to follow.  
  
_Maker, what just happened?_  
  
I kept sinking deeper and deeper into the disapproval of the hold. As I watched the girl of plaideweave leggings disappear from my view, I slumped down to sit beneath the window of a building from which I was probably now banned. There, I did something I would not have done had I faced the same situation twenty-four hours earlier.

" _Templar_  
_Igniting_  
_Fire inside me._  
  
_Maker,_  
_Remind me._  
_Gone are the days_  
_Of our peace._  
  
_Now we reside in_  
_The great divide._

_No promise_  
_Surviving_  
_The breach_  
_In the sky."_

  
I laughed.

 

* * *

  
No such nonchalance was present when the horns sounded.  
  
Nor was it when the one with horns sprouting from his skull grasped me on the shoulder as I made my way from Flissa's to the chantry.  
  
"Hey," said the strange, deep voice that had startled me from behind, "Trevelyan, right? The one the boss has watching the spirit...kid...thing? It... _He_ isn't around, is he? Or is he just not...visible?"  
  
I shook my shoulder out from underneath the heavy fingers and spun around to face a tower of a man. Was 'man' correct? Dragon-man? Regardless, I knew who he was. Rather, _what,_ not who--he was The Iron Bull. A ' _the'_. A _real_ "thing", unlike the spirit to whom he was referring. I had been succeeding in my endeavours to avoid the massive, scarred, shirtless qnari since I had first noticed his presence at Haven. Apparently he had a band of mercenaries--The Bull's Chargers--who had been hired by the inquisition some days before my arrival at Haven. In that time, The Iron Bull had amassed quite the notoriety around the hold. Rumours of brutality and savage ruthlessness swirled about his character, and after the events at the Redoubt, I had had my fill of savage brutality. Still, fate displayed no sympathy to my desires. Once again, I had been ambushed.  
  
"Oh! Um, hello." I did my best to feign composure. He was wearing an eye-patch. Did that mean he was missing an eye? If so, would it be proper to make eye-contact while speaking with him or would that be equatable to someone staring at my legs while I walked? Or would it be more rude _not_ to look him in the eye?  
  
A considerable silence passed between us and he looked about ready to walk away before I blurted,  
  
"I wouldn't call Cole a kid! He looks to be my age!"  
  
Bull's visible eye squinted at me as if scrutinizing a deranged animal the way one does to determine whether or not it should be put out of its misery. "Uh...Yeah...Leliana said you were around twenty right? In that case, you're _both_ kids. So, uh, no need to get jumpy or anything, but I take it if you know who I'm talking about, you _are_ Trevelyan? I'm The Iron Bull. And I won't bite, kid."  
  
"Sorry, sorry!" I stammered.It took a deep breath and a bite to the lip, but I managed to force some degree of diplomacy to my words. "Yes, I'm Apprentice-Mage Trevelyan--or, well, I used to be. I'm in charge of governing and assessing Cole for any malicious demonic activity. I believe he's off with Solas at the moment--it's natural for an expert of the fade to be the one giving a secondary opinion, but the Herald claims Solas is too biased to do my work."  
  
"Ah," The Bull mused, less business-like than I had been anticipating. "And...Uh, about that...Have you noticed any of that weird crap you talked about yet? Malicious activity? Demon stuff?"  
  
"Not...Really," I took a pause to refresh my practiced demeanour, "It would seem as though  the troubles of others trouble him in turn. He wants to alleviate them, not cause them, as far as I can tell."  
  
Obviously still suspicious, but more at ease, the qunari nodded.  
  
"Good, good. He and I are fine as long as that's the case. I just...I signed up to keep demons out of this world and I don't want to deal with any of _those_ kinds of demons any more than what's necessary. Bandits and other threats, I can handle."  
  
"I understand," I drawled in professional passivity. I was just about to bid The Bull on his way when I recalled the candle-lit conversations Cole and I had shared the night prior.  
  
_Would telling this ox of Cole's past cause violence?  
  
_ No. I could not allow myself to begin thinking in such ways. Cole had shown me benevolence, but benevolence did not exempt me from my purpose. If violence was deemed justice in regards to Cole's past crimes, I could not allow myself to interfere. Cautiously, I approached the subject with the silver-skinned man before me.  
  
"Forgive me," I began, "I just remembered something I _did_ uncover about Cole and...Um, given your thoughts on demons, I feel I ought to tell you. Please know that it is an old... _behaviour_ of his and I do not believe it will emerge again in the present."  
  
The Bull tensed once more. "I'm listening."  
  
"To put it bluntly...He has killed non-violent people. We only talked about it for a short while, but I believe he only did so because he saw killing as a means to end the suffering of the people he killed."  
  
The lone eye narrowed. I tried to move my gaze downward in a gesture of submission, but given that the only other available sights were the man's bare nipples and his _interesting_ choice of pants, I uncomfortably stayed with his doubting glare. Demons, apparently, were something with which he wanted to take little risk  
  
"Trevelyan, was it? Look, I get that he seems small and innocent, maybe even cute, but I can't work with a demon unless we're _sure_ he doesn't enjoy killing. To be upfront, I don't see how your word alone can distinguish mercy killings from merriment killings."  
  
"I-I understand." I repeated. "I don't have any concrete evidence, but it seems like he mostly killed mages. Mages who were afraid of themselves...Who despaired over life."  
  
A glimmer made a sudden appearance in that same eye. "And...Demons tend to only focus on one thing at a time, and Cole's thing is fixing despair?"  
  
"Y-yes!" I said, surprised at his attempt to understand without more attestation. "I mean, that's precisely  _my_ hypothesis, but you are by all means welcome to discuss the matter with Solas, or even Cole himself, before you decide what's right."  
  
"Hmmm...It sounds like that would make sense. Thanks, kid. I'm not just asking for my own concern, though. The boss said Leliana gave him a tip about the...other kid. Told me to ask you about uh, his demon...abilities? Anyways, point is, the boss said if you were honest, he'd have a job for you. I think you were honest."  
  
"A job?"  
  
"Yeah, the boss is taking me, Cassandra, Blackwall, and the templars to the breach today. We've been preparing for weeks and we hope to finally cork that mess. Boss said he had a job for Solas, Varric, and Sera in the mean time, and wanted to include, uh, that Cole kid. But only if you could be trusted to go with him."  
  
"Go...On a job? For the inquisition? All due respect, Mr. Bull, but I'm not fond of demons either and the last time I did a job for the inquisition, one of them wormed its way into my head."  
  
"Uck, uh, yeah. I heard enough about _that_ to give me nightmares for weeks." He shuddered openly, a series of wrinkles gathering around his nose and upper lip, as if a foul sent had moved over us. "Look, as much as I understand how you feel, I'm just delivering messages. The boss says he left a lot of unfinished business in the hinterlands--mainly business involving starving refugees. He says the other kid, if he likes to help, would be good for that, but you need to watch him."  
  
"And what would _I_ do if Cole became a problem?"  
  
The Bull shrugged. "You and Solas would figure something out. Don't worry. The Hinterlands won't give you the same treatment you received at Therinfall. The boss sealed all the rifts and did the dirty work as far as the cult and the horse master were concerned. Broke up the apostate and templar encampments, too. Stopped the fighting. You'd just be in charge of distress relief. Reuniting the families who live, informing the less fortunate of any identifiable corpses you find--just providing sympathy for their situation so they gain sympathy for our cause."  
  
I grimaced.  
  
"I'll take you up on your suggestion and go see if I can talk to Solas and...this _Cole._ Nice meeting you kid, and, since you're one of us now, don't be a stranger. I've got horns, but I don't breathe fire. Think about that job."  
  
\--  
  
And think about it I did. Solas and Varric did such a good job at occupying Cole throughout our Hinterlands journey that the curious boy did not issue me a single question.  I also thought about Bull's words. His horns. Perhaps they were, indeed, harmless, but the brand of horns that awaited me in my future, little did I know, would announce nothing but hazard.  
  
The afternoon turned to evening, and throughout the hours of gathering supplies, caring for the sick of body alongside the sick of soul, and gathering metals to bring back to the chantry, the only words Cole directed my way were,  
  
"I'm glad we helped them!" and "It was nice to do that."  
  
True to what The Bull had supposed, Cole did seem to have a rather one-track mind. He was a puppy attempting to learn the trade and tricks of the human world, but there were too many squirrels of pain and suffering around to distract him. While Solas encouraged squirrel-chasing, Varric took a fatherly and benign approach in his time with Cole. The spirit had taken a keen interest in Varric upon meeting him--an interest, which, I suspected, was fueled by some sort of negative energy floating behind the dwarf's jesting facade--and whenever that eager attention fell upon him, Varric responded in a benign, fatherly way as he shifted the conversation from themes of gloom to themes of tutelage in the human condition. All the while, the progress was half-overwritten by Solas, who, when he received his turn, would remind Cole of the fade and inquire about its wonders from the perspective of a spectral being.  
  
Hearing them use the boy like an object--a toy--it was easier for me to think of Cole as less of a person and more of an _it._ A thing. A _'The'_ like The Iron Bull. Perhaps Cole was just my job, as using Bianca was Varric's?  
  
Perhaps that's why, as we traveled from corner to corner of the vast Ferelden expanse, I found it easier to bond with Sera than I had at the tavern that morning. She had started out our journey mostly by complaining.  
  
"Templars, Cassandra, Black-Whatever and the right-fit Bull," she said, "tsch! The herald really likes bashy-bullies, 'oesn't he?"  
  
"Upset that you weren't asked to help close the Breach by firing arrows into the Fade?" I teased her.  
  
"Bloody right I am! I wanted things to get back to normal and _I_ wanted to help do it! Now I'm stuck doing the work that the mini-herald was too important to do!"  
  
"But you're still helping the little people," I pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, but your creepy thing back there is the one who likes to help this way. _I_ like to help by attacking at the source. If the big people weren't so big, these refugees wouldn't be so little."  
  
"I'm surprised you're complaining more about The Herald and less about Cole."  
  
Sera stuck her tongue out. "Yuck. That thing's wrong, but as long as we keep walking in front and I don't have to see it, I won't spew. So...Make sure that staff doesn't break on a rock or something. yeah?"  
  
"I'll do my best. And yeah, I don't know what to think of him yet, either. Cole's not dangerous, but I don't know if he's useful either. Useful beyond giving me a duty, anyway."  
  
"Hah! Oh no, I know _exactly_ what to think of it, but those words are the kind that make pricks kick people out of taverns."  
  
" _Right._ The _words_ did that. Sure."  
  
"Hey, You can't blame me for being surprised. Everyone in the hold heard you screaming at _something_ last night. I just wanted to know if it was _that_ kind of screaming."  
  
I stepped on her foot with my staff. "If you keep thinking those thoughts, _it_ will hear." I warned her. "And _it_ asks a _lot_ of questions."  
  
More snicker-snorting. " 'Bout time you put a lid on that ' _him'_   shite. If you wanna talk about its uses, I'd say asking questions is it _can_ do, let alone _will_. Your magic is creepy, but at least it has uses. _The_ Creepy doesn't."  
  
I nodded with a bit of reluctance and a lot of guilt. "Cole's... _Kind..._ But kindness doesn't serve an inquisition."  
  
"Speaking of services, why does the mini-herald want you to keep watch on it? Does he _not_ want it to run away? Right now, that would be our best bet! He'd be off in these Hinter-wherevers and far away from Haven! Far away from _me,_ more importantly."  
  
Those words made me pause. Cole was happy helping, but I wasn't. I wasn't happy  _at all._ There were no apostates on the Hinterland roads anymore, no templars...I didn't enjoy serving the inquisition...What if I were to disappear and remain somewhere, alone? I heard Redcliffe was harbouring mages...  
  
"Trevy?"  
  
"Huh?" I snapped out of thought. "Sorry, I was distracted."  
  
"By what, my arse? There's nothing but trees to look at 'round here."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself. I only entertain the company of men."  
  
"Oh now that's a pity, innit? The company of... _spirit_ men?"  
  
"Shut up!" I laughed. "What did you want before the trees caught my attention?"  
  
"I wanted to know if you think the rat-feeding thing back there is even a job worth having."  
  
With those words, I found myself knotted in the gut. I would have slowed to a stop had Sera not placed such great importance on staying at the head of the pack. Was the purpose Cole added to my life a purpose worth having? Dropping soup, soul-searching, and feeding nugs? That wasn't fair. He had done more. He encouraged thinking, discouraged prejudice...He had opened my eyes to the humanity and the hurting of those who I had dismissed due to their hardened exteriours.  
  
But was he a worthy way to occupy my time? Was any of this whole inquisition?  
  
  
"...No." I admitted with great wist.  "In fact...I think I could do well if a sudden loss were to happen within the thick of all these trees."  
  
Sera groaned in agreement, but I doubt we were thinking of losing the same person.  
  
\--  
  
When skies had gave way to stars and we marched back to Haven, it must have been the sound of festivites and celebrations that had kept us from detecting the danger at our tails. The breach had been closed, there was merriment and joy and music at a deafening volume. I hated parties. Had I made the right choice by not fleeing in the Hinterlands when I had the chance?  
  
The answer to all my questions came when the pitches of laughter and melodies were outmatched by the pitches of screams.  
  
Of war-horns.  
  
My pack still hung limply on my back when I was ushered into the current of a pandemonic mob. The iron and elfroot and tokens of gratitude from the refugees that it held rattled around inside as I was jostled and jabbed. Sera had only left my side to join the celebrations twenty minutes before. Where was she now? What was going on? I was too short to see the source of the panic, but the smell of smoke and the cry of the horns left little to my imagination. My worst fears were confirmed when a woman locked my gaze only to spit on my face.  
  
"Foolish girl! The mages are upon us and _you_ disbanded the templars! They will never fight as they used to without solidarity! Our deaths are on _you!_ "  
  
I was pushed along, away from her, but rather than relent, she shouted louder. I heard every word before a presence appeared behind me and wiped the offending liquid from my cheek.  
  
"Emmeline!" Cole cried. "I'll help you to the chantry! It's okay!"  
  
I grapped his wrist without hesitation and I held on for dear life as we wove through the citizen-stampede. When we finally reached the entrance of the stone building, I heaved a sigh of relief. Already, a stream of wounded people were pouring behind me, and I could not linger. Cole, however, moved in the opposite direction.  
  
  
"Wait!" I called "Wha-where are you going, Cole? I swear, if this is about nugs--"  
  
"No!" He cut me short. "It's about people! I promised the Herald I'd be shadowy and small. I'd kill things that would hurt! People need help!"  
  
"You can help people in here!" I gestured to the wounded.  
  
"So can the Sisters, but the Sisters can't hide in a fight! I can!"  
  
I heard Sera in the far corner of the chantry. Having spotted me, she was desperately calling out my name. Her voice was louder than it had been when she spilled the wine.  
"SHITE! JUST COME ON, FOR FRIG SAKE!"  
  
"BUT!--" I called back to her, then looked back to Cole, switching to a whisper, "but..."  
  
"You shouldn't come with me!" Cole said. "I can be faster than you! People are dying, but I can help! I have to go!"  
  
"But..."  
  
"FUCKING ANDRASTE'S PISS DAMN FUCK, TREVY! COME THROUGH THE DAMNED DOOR!"  
  
"But..."  
  
Cole was clearly growing restless. "The injured don't like to be cold, either. You should let them shut the door."  
  
"But...I- _shit!_ I don't care what or who you are, okay? And I don't care about the rules! I--I don't understand it, I shouldn't like you, but I just can't lose you! Not yet!"  
  
Cole paused and raised his head to allow me to see a glimpse of his face underneath all the hat and hair. It seemed as though a question had yet again surfaced to the tip of his tongue, an inquisitive expression painted over his lips. An explosion in the distance--louder than the blaring horns--however, caused him to abandon the thought. He looked over his shoulder, then back at me as I blushed, sheepish and ashamed of my earlier actions.  
  
"Okay," he murmured, then added, "I heard you earlier. Your hurt. The trees. I...am glad you aren't lost, either."   
  
  The sentiment was no more loud than the blowing snow that trashed about us, yet spoke volumes all the same. I had thought Varric had busied Cole's mind and Solas had emptied him of energy, but no. He had heard my every thought, my every doubt of him, and yet his voice remained so soft...  
  
"Cole, I'm--"  
  
A woman, aggressive in her hysterics, pushed me inside the entry-way. Before the doors closed, I looked around me, and he was gone.  
  
Completely gone.  
  
Was I not, then, completely lost?

 


End file.
